Sky Colored Water
by lymphocytosis
Summary: AU. The year is 1927. Recently dragged from London to Minnesota, Emily is bored, wealthy and married to a man she doesn't love. Then she meets bold and boyish Naomi Campbell in a most unconventional way and her life begins to change. But just as they forge a shaky friendship, Emily discovers her dark and sordid past has followed her across continents.
1. Chapter 1: None if by Sea

**A/N: I've been working on this tale (very lazily) for a number of years now, wanting to work out a lot of the kinks before I started posting it. About a month ago, I tragically lost a great deal of it, so I started writing COI as a lighter story to console myself. As such, COI is connected thematically to SCW, with several setting and plot arc parallels but I don't think you could by any stretch of the imagination walk away from either and say you read the same story twice. You can consider them my Twin Cities pair, if you will.  
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**I started to post SCW here the other day when I realized I was posting an old, unedited version. Effy in particular was crammed into a role that didn't fit her personality very well. COI is going to remain my primary focus until it is finished, but I will sporadically post to this one as I reshape the material I already have written for SCW.**

**So without further ado I give you Sky Colored Water (again).**

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Truth is beautiful, without doubt; but so are lies. -Ralph Waldo Emerson

**Prologue**

London, United Kingdom, September 1918—It was a cold night for the end of the summer, and wet through from two days of storms. Fall was slowly beginning to bear down on them, and for any man crouching in the mud at the bottom of a trench it felt like the end of the war would never come; but then, they were not men in trenches at all. The smuggler shifted where he leaned against the bricked wall in the alley, cigarette gripped between lips split with sunburn and exposure. His comrades skulked around him, none speaking. The tension had only grown as the time ticked by, his ears pricked carefully to the sound of any approaching footsteps. He casually checked his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes, slipping it back into his pocket with a sneer. The night was very dark outside the sphere of dim light from the gas lamps. Clouds blocked the stars from view and there was a new moon. Suddenly, the authoritative click of nailed boots on the flagged stones rang out echoing along with the lap of water and far off barking. The suppliers had finally arrived. He breathed a sigh of relief, straightening up to address one of the men, but then there was something odd. It was…a woman? Here with them in the middle of the night? He caught a fleeting glimpse of her, her face obscured by shadow, but he neither saw nor heard the rifle raised behind him, only felt the sick crack of it at the base of his skull.

Then blackness.

**Part I: Minnesota**

**Chapter 1: None if by Sea**

United States, 1927—It had easily been the worst week of her life. Perhaps it was a bit of an exaggeration, but if that were the case the exaggeration was only very slight. Emily leaned completely improperly with her chin resting on the railing of the top deck, feeling a flood of relief creep into her chest as the beautiful sweep of Duluth's harbor finally came into view. Tiny buildings climbed the hillside, disappearing into a green tree line at the top of the ridge. The sun was bright and steady in a handsome blue September sky. The breeze kicked up white crests on the surface of Lake Superior, and Emily felt strangely like the spray damp air should smell like the sea, but there was no salty tang, no scent of seaweed in spite of the calling gulls that circled overhead.

Minnesota. She had been away from home before, touring in Europe, but she had never embarked on a trip before that had no set ending. Her stay could well be indefinite, and this brought a pang of longing for her house in Mayfair, although she had not been away very long. What was there to know about Minnesota? It seemed like an untamed place in picture postcards with snow that could bury whole cities. In her mind she had formed an image of a place like British Columbia with rugged mountains and vast timbered forests stretching endlessly away from a little town with low wooden shops. She imagined wildly she was on the verge of being transported back to 1870 and would need to start wearing petticoated calico dresses and Victorian boots, grow her hair long again and develop an intimate familiarity with corsets and pins.

Of course, the photographs she had perused in the historical society's records _had _been from 1870, which may have biased her frame of reference. The small city with its train station, banks, and concert halls was a far cry from her impression, though. Still a far cry from the sprawling brick and pavement of London, but definitely not an endless wilderness. If this was Duluth, then she wondered what kind of city she would find at the capital, Saint Paul, where they were bound after making arrangements for a summer home. She hadn't even set foot on dry land yet, but already she was quashing feelings of homesickness, tempered by the knowledge that when and if she did return to England it would require another wretched voyage by ship and that was where all the trouble began.

Emily swore quietly at herself for the millionth time. Her husband, JJ, had solicitously offered to allow her to stay behind at Mayfair while he went ahead to America, knowing even five minutes in a row boat tended to turn his wife green. Deep down she knew that the only reason he made the offer to let her stay was because he knew she would refuse it. For better or worse, she followed wherever he went. Anyway, her journey from England should have been a grand adventure. It was blessed by good time and better weather, but with the gentle pitch and roll of even two-foot seas she wished she had remembered to have her stomach surgically removed in London. There was something about the water that reduced her to quivering nausea as soon as it was deeper than a hipbath.

"Make sure to look out at the horizon," one of the mates had advised her on the first day. "Here stand at the rail."

So she had stood at the rail, trying to focus her eyes on the flat plane of the horizon in the distance. About the only good thing to come of that was the convenient immediacy of several million gallons of swirling water. After all, much better there than in the middle of the deck, or worse, indoors. JJ was in no way deterred by this incident in his quest to help her find her "sea legs." His new tack was to encourage her to eat. That evening at dinner he plied her with bread and cheese.

"This will help you feel better," he cajoled, holding out a filled plate. "Trust me."

Emily had eyed him doubtfully, given that these words usually preceded events where she promptly wished she had not even considered trusting him. Thus, she suspected the episode would end rather more poorly than her visit to the railing that afternoon, but since she had only imbibed a bit of cold water (which immediately reappeared) between dawn and that moment, she tried to indulge him by managing to choke down three whole bites of plain toast. She realized, almost immediately, the toast had been a mistake. Polite conversation continued to hum between the other passengers around her; completely oblivious to the Herculean battle of wills that was occurring in her finely upholstered oak chair. She was utterly determined to hold onto the toast if it killed her.

The toast, however, was cunning. Finally, acknowledging she wouldn't be able to thwart its bid for freedom much longer, she abruptly stood up, accidently knocking the table in a clatter of flatware. The gentlemen got to their feet as good manners dictated, looking surprised. Emily flashed a weak tight-lipped smile to them, afraid even exposing her teeth would give the toast a glimmer of light to aim for. She nearly upset a waiter with a tray of fluted glasses, and scrambled around the first corner she set eyes on. A tall potted fern stood unobtrusively in an alcove and with a feeling between relief and regret, she liberated the toast. Just as she finally straightened up, the immaculate maitre de emerged from the kitchen staring at her with such an expression of mute surprise she hastily searched for something to say.

"Yes, yes, you have a _lovely_ plant here."" Emily said breathlessly, bending down and burying her face in the fronds. "It is just _spectacular_."

"Thank you, madam," the man said still wide-eyed with confusion. "I will tell the captain you said so."

The next morning, Emily found the fern waiting in the sitting room of her cabin with a solicitous note from the captain saying he hoped she enjoyed it. When JJ entered in his shirtsleeves with his waistcoat undone to discover Emily laughing so hard she had collapsed onto the sofa, her arms hung limply at her sides with tears running unchecked, he had merely raised his dark eyebrows with a muttered exclamation of, "Women!" Unfortunately, Emily's seasickness never really improved and she spent the six days leading up to their landing in Duluth hungry and miserable, save a short and magical docking in Montreal for fuel and provisions where many of the passengers stayed. She certainly felt no shame now, half doubled over with her cheek resting against the cool wood of the rail. Inwardly, she cursed her husband. JJ was the consummate sailor. He loved the open ocean, loved ships; he loved all of it. He was standing near the bow, his pale suit fluttering jacket open and his hair ruffled by the wind. She knew he was sad their trip was coming to an end, and silently let him enjoy the last hour aboard. Privately, if she ever set foot on another bloody ship again it would be too soon.

Finally the pace of the ship began to slow, and the ship entered a narrow canal flanked on one end by a tall mass of girded steel struts, some sort of bridge or support structure, but Emily couldn't quite work out its purpose, even as they glided beneath it. A half-hour later they had docked in the harbor, and Emily looked up to the hill to find a bustling port city full of people. She felt very alone, clinging onto JJ's arm with the porters rushing about below with cargo and passengers' trunks. Suddenly, she wished she had agreed to have her little personal maid come along with them, but at the time she had felt very badly about taking the poor girl away from her family, and instead had planned to engage a new one in Minnesota.

There were many stories about the rough manners of Americans though, and feeling famished and homesick she missed Enid very much. Most of the rest of the household staff had been obliged to stay for the upkeep of the mansion at Mayfair and the care of JJ's elderly mother, at any rate. JJ had engaged an entire new staff of Minnesotans for when they settled in Saint Paul for the winter. Directing the porters and arranging for the off loading of JJ's large and expensive Rolls Royce, was JJ's valet, Winslow. The man had been in the employ of the Jones since JJ was a teenager. Smiling, Emily felt she could not have asked for a more loyal and decent fellow to have along with them on their journey. Winslow tipped his hat to her as she caught his eye.

Presently, Emily tugged gently on JJ's lapel to gain his attention, pursing her lips when he batted her hand away to smooth the front of his suit.

"Please tell me they have a canal and lock system to get from Duluth to Saint Paul," she said.

He scowled for a moment at her sarcasm, then indulged her. "No, I'm afraid not," he replied. "As much as I know you would have preferred to go by rail from New York, I'm sure you understand that this was faster, and will allow me to choose suitable housing here in Duluth for the summer without having to do so sight unseen as with the house in Saint Paul. To answer your question, however, we will go by train to the capital."

Emily merely nodded, but the primary thought in her mind was clear: Thank God for small mercies. She fidgeted with the buttons on her coat, wondering when they would be able to stop for some nourishment. Perhaps the starvation had improved her figure, though she fancied she appeared rather sickly when too thin. Somewhere nearby a clock tower sounded the time, about one in the afternoon. She sighed, lamenting the American tendency not to take tea. JJ had by now returned his effort to giving instructions to Winslow and the men unloading the ship. Subtly, she could tell JJ was searching the faces of the figures waiting on the quay. Craning her neck Emily could see a lean man with fair hair waiting with his hat off, shading his eyes against the midday sun. His clothes were plain but clean with a high chested jacket that was reminiscent of just after the war. Emily suspected he must not wear it often for the garment to show such little wear after ten years. Suddenly, JJ let out a muffled cry of recognition beside her and strode down the gangplank with steady legs.

"Mister Cook!" JJ greeted him.

The fair-haired man looked up at JJ, evidently startled.

"Mister Cook," JJ repeated, extending his hand. "Jonah Jones."

"Mister Jones!" Cook replied, shaking his hand. "I'm sorry, sir, I was expecting someone…older."

JJ laughed. "Yes, I suppose in letters I must seem like a board room fossil."

With his hair slicked down with tonic and his clean-shaven chin, he still looked positively boyish. In truth, JJ had just turned thirty-three. Likely, then, JJ was not quite as young as the worthy Cook imagined. Emily took this opportunity to follow her husband down onto the quay. She decided it was just going to be a bad day all around as she made her way cautiously along the gangplank, heights being a very close second behind seasickness on a short list of things she despised. As she reached the bottom she let out an audible sigh of relief. A flicker of uncertain guilt passed over Cook's face as he mistook her exhalation for one of annoyance. Emily grimaced slightly, intending to correct him, when JJ laid a hand on her arm.

"Ah, Cook," JJ said, "this is my wife, Katherine. Katherine, this is James Cook. He will be helping me with a number of small tasks while we are here, not the least of which will be building this lumber camp!"

It was a lie, her being Katherine, one that very few people knew.

"Very pleased to meet you, Misses Jones," Cook gushed.

"Likewise," Emily said.

His accent was strange full of long Os and an odd bounce to its cadence. He smiled, a patchy gingery beard surrounding even white teeth. With his whiskers and sharp, angular features he gave Emily the impression of a handsome, sandy fox.

"I apologize for not finding you both sooner," he said sincerely.

"Not at all," JJ said.

"Indeed," Emily agreed shakily.

Cook nodded, mollified. Without warning, JJ left the pair alone, to reprimand two young men who had just dropped one of his trunks. After giving them a thorough telling off, he remained speaking to Winslow in an inaudible murmur. Cook inclined his head politely, taking a half step toward her.

"Did you have a nice trip, Misses Jones?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"It was a…pleasant voyage," she lied.

"Calm seas then?"

"Yes! Very calm."

"No trouble getting your sea legs?"

"None!"

"The words of a woman seasick the whole time."

Emily allowed a rueful half smile to turn up the corner of her mouth. "Overdid the enthusiasm?"

"I mean you absolutely no offense, ma'am, but you looked green around the gills up on board, and now you still look like you've seen your own ghost."

"Damn. As my bad luck would have it, now that I'm back on solid ground all I can think about is eating. Something. Anything."

Cook's heartfelt laugh was deep and agreeable, rumbling out of his chest in a current belied by the quiet baritone of his speaking voice. Presently, JJ rejoined them muttering unflattering epitaphs about the conduct of laborers followed by a brief apology as to his verbiage. Pointing a finger down the quay, Cook indicated a dark automobile.

"If you would follow me, Mister and Misses Jones," Cook said. "I'm sure you're both tired and in need of some refreshment—" Already Emily felt herself liking him, so much so she missed part of what he was saying. "—the Hotel Duluth. Very nice building, it just went up two years ago."

"Actually I was hoping to see some of the houses you had in mind, Cook," JJ put in.

Emily manfully repressed the urge to kick him in the shin. The slight narrowing of her eyes might have only been a squint against the glare of the sun off the water, but she noticed Cook pass his hand over his quivering whiskers, hiding another smile.

"Of course, there are a couple of houses that I think you might like," Cook said to her husband as though nothing had happened. He paused, glancing around as they came up beside the model T. The vehicle was an older model, but it was clean and finely shined. "We could discuss the details at the Pickwick."

"Yes, yes, I believe I could use a drink."

Cook smiled again and as he opened the door to the car he winked at Emily behind her husband's back. It was official. Emily liked the man very much. Allowing Cook to help her into the seat, she settled beside JJ. He leaned briefly into the compartment to address them.

"I left word with the docking agents about the destination of your luggage," he said. "It shouldn't take us very long to get to Pickwick."

Cook fished the crank out from the front seat and walked around to the bonnet. Emily could only observe a rapid swivel of his shoulders as he swung the crank around to start the engine. Their own vehicle had a new electric starter with electric headlamps, and she wondered how much force was necessary to coax an engine to turn over. Finished with his task, Cook leapt behind the wheel.

"It won't take long to get to Pickwick. It's just up Superior."

Emily drank in the sight of the city, its people not looking very different from those she might have seen in parts of London. Duluth surrounded the harbor in a semi-circle, area closest to the lake quickly ascending up rocky slopes to disappear into forest at the crest of the hill. Many houses nestled in wooded seclusion along the hillside, the places closest to the harbor and the Saint Louise River mired in smoke, cranes and industrial bustle. As promised, the drive to Pickwick's was very short as it was less than a mile from the harbor, situated with a splendid view of the wind tossed lake. Once arrived the squat building, Cook ushered them inside, cheerfully greeting some of the men inside, clearly familiar with them. The interior brought to mind a German bier hall with dark woodwork and ceiling panels that interspersed with the rafters. Guiding them to a table near to the fireplace to warm them a little after the stiff wind coming in off the lake. A very young man in a waistcoat came to serve them, relaxing somewhat when he saw Cook among their number.

"What can I bring you to drink?" the waiter asked nervously.

"Flat water, please," Emily said.

First, the young man looked quite startled at Emily's accent, and then even more confused as he tried to process what she meant by flat, as Cook smiled sympathetically.

"Just regular water, Benny," Cook clarified gently. "I'll have one, too."

"What have you in the way of beer?" JJ asked the waiter, having experienced the same nostalgia for beer as Emily when they entered the restaurant.

The young man's eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline at this query, and he glanced from the Englishman to Cook as though suspecting them of being prohibitionist sting agents.

"None, sir," the waiter stammered. "It's illegal."

"Ah, your 'arid' movement, or whatever it's called. Yes, I clean forgot all about that."

"The dry movement, sir," Cook supplied helpfully. "They do serve this stuff called 'near beer.'"

"What on earth is that?"

"A fizzy drink, kind of beer flavored, but there isn't actually any alcohol in it."

"Well, that takes all the fun out of it, doesn't it?"

Cook laughed, his eyes twinkling. "Yes, sir, it does."

"I supposed having a gin and tonic would also be out of the question then. Hmm, how about a coffee? That's not illegal, too is it?"

"No, sir," the waiter said gratefully. "Can I bring you any food?"

JJ's attention drifted to the stack of photographs in front of Cook. "Nothing for me, but by all means."

"Some small things, if you please, Benny," Cook said.

"Tell me about these houses, Cook."

The men lapsed into easy conversation, JJ flicking through the photographs to ones he found appealing. For these Cook would then describe the grounds, rooms, and general location. It quickly became apparent to Emily that JJ had no intention whatsoever of including her in the proceedings. Why he hadn't simply hired a house in correspondence with Cook, she did not know. They easily could have made the proper arrangements by mail, and the discussion was frightfully dull to sit through, stomach empty and without being able to participate. In fact, she was beginning to feel properly faint, but somehow, the vertigo reassured her, a tangible reminder that she really was off that bloody awful ship.

Within a few moments, Benny returned with their three glasses and a tray of crackers and biscuits. He laid them all upon the table, and Emily cast a grateful look to Cook as he surreptitiously pushed the platter in her direction, ostensibly to allow him to lay a number of photographs out on the table top. Emily, in an attempt not to seem over-eager waited a few moments before casually taking one of the biscuits. It resembled shortbread of some kind, dense and smelling of fat and sugar. The first nibble confirmed her suspicion, and she stuffed the rest of it into her mouth, unable to hide her hunger. She must have been on the fifth or sixth biscuit by the time she realized JJ had fixed her with a glare of disapproval. Ducking her head, she couldn't even defend herself without spraying the table in a shower of buttery crumbs.

"My wife does not fare well on ships," JJ said to Cook by way of explanation, not knowing he needed none. "If you were hungry dear, you need only have said so."

Emily struggled to swallow but the shortbread had absorbed all the moisture in her mouth and adhered in a gluey mass to her tongue. She managed a self-conscious squeak, before quelling any other sound. Feeling like a fool, she demurely sipped at her water, chipmunk cheeked, until the glob of shortbread went down painfully. She had navigated public affairs at JJ's side for almost ten years, but there was ever that sour memento that he was born to it in a way that she had never been.

"I have no love for ships myself," Cook said nodding gravely. "My brother was a sailor, but I have no stomach for it."

"Neither have I," Emily returned, eyes watering slightly as she pressed her fingers to her sternum. "You said your brother _was_ a sailor. Has he since given up the sea?"

"In a manner of speaking. He was killed during the war."

"Oh, I beg your pardon. I'm dreadfully sorry."

Waving his hand, Cook shook his head. "No need. Many fine British soldiers died, too." He discreetly cleared his throat. "What do you think of this house, Misses Jones?" Cook slid a photo of a handsome house across the table to her water glass, trying to engage her in his previous discussion with JJ.

"I don't mind whatever we choose. I defer to my husband's judgment on such matters."

Nevertheless, she lifted the photograph, examining the gables of the roof, the rounded front balcony and the copse of trees to the side. The wood siding was painted some pale color, the exact shade obviously indistinguishable in the grayscale of the picture.

"House is up on a vantage point," Cook said. "Great big picture windows."

"Aren't they cold in winter?" she said.

"Not if it's a summer home."

"Ah, yes, that little detail is important."

"As to the house in Saint Paul," interrupted JJ, as though just reminded.

"Yes, sir," Cook replied promptly. "I was able to rent the house you requested on Summit, and the owners are amendable to the renovations. The kitchen is in the middle of being refitted with new appliances and plumbing. It should be done by the end of the week. My uncle Keith and brother Paddy are leading the teams, so if you have any questions or trouble at all they should be able to make it right."

For several more minutes JJ and Cook hammered out details regarding the house in Saint Paul. Satisfied, JJ finished his coffee thoughtfully, reaching out to touch the back of the photograph Emily still held with his forefinger.

"This house, Mister Cook," JJ began, "do you think we could see it?"

"Yes, of course."

"Excellent, then let us be away."

JJ rose, reaching inside his coat to retrieve an impressive billfold. Tossing a much too large note onto the table, he strode from the room, a man of ease. The young waiter rushed over, asking JJ if he needed change. JJ sent him away, so accustomed to obedience he did so carelessly, not perceiving the waiter's blushing objection. In very little time at all, Cook had restarted the car and they were off a slope of road uphill away from the shore. Emily squirmed, aware after a few moments that JJ was watching her, his expression strangely solicitous.

"Katie," JJ said.

Emily did not successfully prevent her annoyance from showing. No one had called her Katie since she was a child, and then only by accident; now there was only Katherine, even though JJ still occasionally tried to use the name as an endearment.

"Katherine," he said, noting her reaction at his latest attempt. "I think you will like this house."

"Is there something in particular you think will strike my fancy?"

"You will see, but as I say, I believe you will like it very much."

She raised her eyebrows, more in inquiry than skepticism, but then JJ did provide things like this for her, at once seemingly callous and also startlingly considerate. The tires crunched loudly on the gravel of the drive as they pulled off the main road, prematurely bringing their exchange to a close. Emily gazed up at the house, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu as she saw the house in Cook's photograph in the flesh. The unidentifiable pale paint was in fact light blue. Cook came around and opened the door for her. Stepping out into the gravel, Emily's skirt billowed in a sudden gust of wind and she fought with it for a few seconds.

"Seems…breezy," she observed dryly to Cook in an undertone.

"I have a kite you can borrow," Cook replied with a grin.

"Remind me of that offer. I have half a mind to take you up on it."

Together the three climbed the few steps to the front door, lingering on the porch as Cook fiddled with the lock. The interior was bright with sunshine, all polished wood and tile. The entryway ceiling climbed all the way to the second floor, the stairs wrapping around the foyer to travel in a circular path to the upper landing. JJ walked into the next room, the nailed heels of his fine shoes ringing out hollowly on the floorboards.

"Katherine," he called out to her. "Join me?"

Emily dutifully pursued him into another chamber around the back of the house to find a handsome library with the advertised picture windows. One wall bore handsome empty shelves, the next a massive hearth, and finally the windows completely with a window seat tucked into one nook. Below the house perched on the hill, Lake Superior stretched endlessly toward the horizon.

"Very like your work room at home," JJ suggested.

"Yes, very like it," Emily concurred.

"What do you think? Do you fancy this house will be agreeable?"

Emily merely nodded, settling in the window seat to take in the view. Chuckling, JJ left her to explore the other rooms in the house. After a thorough tour of the house, Emily finished in the rear yard, breathing in the warmth of the fall air, growing crisp with the turning of the maple leaves. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to think of her life in London, not to compare and worry. So concentrated on this one thought was she that she did not hear Cook's approach from behind. He stood beside her at the fence, his short ginger whiskers stirred by the wind.

"I hope you enjoy Minnesota," Cook said, his sincerity coloring his eyes with warmth.

"I'm sure I will," Emily answered, trying to inject more hope than she felt into the words.

"Whenever you're ready we will move to the hotel. I'm sure you're tired."

"Thank you, Cook."

"Not at all."

Smiling again, Cook moved away, leaving her alone again at the crest of the hill, hand folded over the fence post. In her heart, something tore at her with a fresh new ferocity that she had not felt in some years. It was more than the subtle, dull ache she usually carried, the raw press of a wound that would never heal. She set her jaw, throat burning in a sea of unshed tears.

"Effy," she whispered, voice trembling with emotion. "Look! I am in America."


	2. Chapter 2: Rhythms and Ruts

**Chapter 2: Rhythms and Ruts**

Two days later they raced along the Soo Line south toward the Twin Cities lodged comfortably in a first class day coach. JJ was seated beside Emily on a mahogany bench seat, his foot resting on his opposite knee. Emily gazed out the window, watching the rapid passage of miles of forest, rolling farmland, and the occasional small town. It felt rather like leaving London. JJ hardly paid her any attention as he read through the morning newspaper, eventually casting it aside to take up another sheaf of notes. Suddenly, he drew his pocket watch from his waistcoat and hummed happily.

"Just a half hour more or so," JJ said to her.

"What shall we do once we've arrived?"

"Cook will be waiting at Union Depot. I believe he has a mind to show us the house and introduce the staff."

As promised, in just a little more than thirty minutes, the train chugged to a halt in Saint Paul's Union Depot near the river. The station was less than five years old, and its newness showed in the light gray of its exterior stones, not yet blacked by pollution and exposure. Cook and Winslow waited side by side on the platform, Cook standing with his hat beneath his arm, thumbs tucked into the small pockets of his waistcoat. It began to rain when JJ and Emily stepped down onto the platform and Winslow immediately produced an umbrella in spite of the fact that they were standing beneath an awning which made the umbrella quite redundant. The scent of the rain cooling the hot rails and pavement permeated the air around them, smelling of tarred spars and concrete. But soon they had entered the main station, the high arch of the glass making the tinkling of the storm seem very far away. Emily gazed about expectantly at the rosy marble columns that supported the ceiling. Somewhere by the ticket counter a child was wailing with heedless abandon, and everywhere shoes clicked on the polished floor. She felt dimly alone standing there among so many strangers so far from home.

Just then two girls in gray cloche hats tumbled in through the main doors, giggling helplessly. Water dribbled from their soaked clothes in fat drops, and one blushed as the other whispered furiously in her ear. It reminded her of Effy. Emily dragged her eyes from them and returned to staring at the back of JJ's head as he strode in quiet conversation with Cook. No, she would not get more than this cursory pass through today. Cook squarely opened one of the main doors for them, then darted out between the pillars at the front of the building to find Winslow. JJ's finely appointed black Rolls Royce waited for them, having been shipped from Duluth the previous day. The fad was for even rich young men to drive, but JJ had never had any taste for it. If he was not working, he was wishing he was and by being chauffeured he allowed himself a few extra moments in transit.

Winslow handed Emily into the car first, followed by JJ; Cook joined Winslow in the front. The vehicle traveled streets flanked by tall buildings, not nearly as busy as London, but definitely populated with shops, offices, and politicians though there were relatively few buildings of any height. Just as they turned the first corner the rain stopped, and a feeble sun tried to break through the clouds. They quickly climbed out of the forested river valley with its links to the Mississippi River and shortly were driving down Summit Avenue. The wide boulevard astounded Emily with its large number of Victorian houses, all handsome and surrounded by green lawns and graceful shade trees.

Soon, they had drawn up outside a large house with wrought iron fencing encasing a small garden and gravel drive. Green ivy swarmed over the gate and up the side of the edifice. Outside, the new staff were all assembled, waiting for arrival of Mr. Jones and his wife. Taking Winslow's hand, Emily stepped from the vehicle and followed in JJ's wake to the servants: two little maids, the cook, the gardener, and the housekeeper. To the side waited two men as dissimilar in appearance as two men could hope to look. One of a medium height though quite a bit younger than Cook, and one short and stout, his shining red cheeks showing beneath a mop of gray hair.

"Hello," JJ greeted them, as the servants all bowed or curtsied. "I am Mister Jones, and you will all be under my employ for at least the next year. My wife and I intend to winter here and then you will move with us to Duluth when the time is right. Winslow here is my personal valet and you will all answer to him as you do to me. Mister Cook? Their names if you please."

"This is Rachel Yates, the housekeeper," Cook began, working his way down the line before finishing up at the smallest of the maids, "…and this is Maggie Olsen." He paused, clearing his throat, before pointing at the two men hovering alone at the edges of the party. Both removed their hats and came forward, the stout man's hand extended to shake.

"Mister Jones, these two men are my Uncle Keith Cook and brother Patrick," Cook said by way of introduction.

"Ah!" JJ said. "I'm very pleased to meet you both."

"Yes, sir," the stout man replied. "I'm Keith, as Cook said. If there is anything at all, sir, we can do for you while we are working on the house please let us know."

"Cook recommends you very highly. If you'd care to show me the work you've completed so far I would be quite glad to see it."

Paddy and Keith led the way around the side of the house to allow the new tenants to enter the building from the front. The house was positively massive, done in the Queen Anne style in red stone. A deep covered entryway surrounded the front door, and a round peaked tower rose from the house on the left. Venturing inside revealed a sumptuous foyer surrounded by dark paneling, spiraling into a high vaulted ceiling overlooked by the upper landing. The kitchen, study, sitting room, and dining room were all located on the first floor. Upstairs, Cook led Emily to her library. Instead of being a closed chamber with a door, the library connected directly to the upper landing with a doublewide door arch.

Two panels of windows faced Summit, but the rest of the walls were covered in shelves and cabinets except for a space near the entrance that had a small stone hearth. The similarity of this room to the one in Duluth did not escape Emily, and she had a feeling she rather knew why: it was all very similar to her library at home. JJ took great pains to ensure she would feel at ease, even many thousands of miles away from her fireside in Mayfair. She looked over to her husband, grateful for his consideration, and when she caught his eye, he smiled. Already she imagined the layout of the furniture. Her mahogany tables would go near the hearth, her leather sofa and armchair as well. Another table for the corner, and perhaps a desk, yes, there beneath the windows.

Finally, Emily drifted to the bedroom nearest the library. It was fairly palatial and overlooked the rear yard, a large steel radiator beneath each window. Attached was a large closet and bathroom, tiled with small black and white patterns and full of handsome porcelain fixtures. These were to be her private rooms. Emily settled onto the feather top mattress, hugging a red silk throw cushion to her chest. She sank slightly into the downy surface, deep in thought. For Emily, the two most important parts of a house were her private rooms and her library. These were her sanctuaries, the places she felt most safe. Even JJ never entered her bedroom now. It had happened precisely once when they were first married, Emily's only concession for their nuptials. The bedroom remained her domicile, graced by her maid and herself alone.

So began Emily's time in Saint Paul. Cook split his time and effort between Duluth and Saint Paul. JJ wasted no time in ingratiating himself with the locals and obtaining memberships to nearby clubs, namely the University Club due to its proximity to the house and also with some conniving the Minnesota Club in Minneapolis, a place frequented by politicians and industry barons. The little maid Maggie spent part of her time as Emily's personal attendant, the rest of the time as general maid, attending to many of the small household maintenance and cleaning tasks. Emily felt herself developing a pleasant acceptance of the girl, Maggie being overwhelmed to be the personal attendant of a real British woman.

They had only been in the house a few days when JJ appeared while Emily was unpacking one her numerous trunks full of books, trying to decide whether they should be arranged by subject matter, author name, or if she should finally relent and adopt the Dewey Decimal system favored by public libraries. She heaved another armful of books delicately from the trunk, turning them in her hands to gaze at the spines.

"I brought you something," JJ said as he entered the room.

"Is it something interesting?" asked Emily hopefully.

"I think you will like it."

He clicked his fingers and from around the corner Paddy and Keith shuffled, bearing between them a gleaming wood desk. The dark shining oak she noted had an odd pattern, pale stripes stretching the length of the grain, almost burl in their appearance.

"Not mahogany," JJ lamented, "but then it's not pine either."

"Tiger oak," Emily said with a smile. "Oh, JJ! It's a beautiful desk. Thank you." She set the books down on the floor and swept up to touch his cheek.

"I take it you like it?"

"I do."

"I'll consider my good deeds done for a ten-day." He squeezed her hand.

"Where should we put it, ma'am?" Paddy asked in a low, respectful voice.

"Oh, please there under the window beneath the sun."

She stood admiring the burnished wood for some time, running her fingers over the scrollwork on the drawers and the flat writing surface.

"Katherine" JJ interrupted gently, "I am headed down the University Club. You have no been yet. Would you care to join me?"

"Yes, that sounds nice, thank you."

Together the two prepared to leave and entered the waiting Rolls Royce. They had literally been in the vehicle only a minute when it stopped outside a winged brick and stucco building at the top of menacingly steep Ramsey Hill. Emily cast her husband a surprised look; the ride was perhaps four blocks, and yet they had chosen to drive. JJ entered the club with her, already on excellent terms with the attendant it seemed, intent on making introductions between notable persons and herself. She trailed in JJ's wake, moving from room to room, speaking when spoken to and somehow keeping up an easy flow of light banter with the people she met. In retrospect she had a vague impression of shaking hands with a great many men, but the only person she remembered distinctly was a vivacious blonde who had smiled at Emily from behind a cigarette holder, apparently amused by Emily's greeting.

"Katherine, this is Victoria Payne," JJ said.

"Victoria," Victoria interjected.

JJ and Emily stood beside a larger fireplace in a room overlooking the river, JJ leaning lazily against the mantel. Victoria was seated on a plush velvet sofa. She was beautiful and haughty, her hair a perfect stylish wave, her clothes fashionable enough to rival Marie Prevost, a drop waisted dress made from gray silk that flowed loosely around her slender frame.

"Very pleased to meet you, Victoria," Emily said.

"My, my," Victoria said laughing. "Now look at these British manners."

Victoria smiled, linking arms with Emily as she swept her into the next room. A circle of women were tittering in a corner, and Emily let out a small squeak as Victoria practically dragged her into their midst.

"Ladies," Victoria said loudly. "May I introduce the veritable Misses Katherine Jones."

Emily pulled back her lips failing to do much more than flash her teeth in the general direction of the others.

"I'm very glad to meet all of you," Emily said at last.

A general murmur of delight rose from the women collected, including several comments about the sweetness of Emily's accent.

"Now," Victoria queried, "why on God's green earth did you move from London to Saint Paul, Minnesota?"

Emily ducked her head. "To be with my husband, of course."

"Why did he choose this backwater?"

"JJ has business interests here."

"Honey, there's nothing here but woods and flour."

Emily's looked startled at the mention of flour, frowning slightly. "Flour?"

"Pillsbury, Gold Medal." Victoria waved her hand dismissively, scattering ash from her cigarette. "Your husband doesn't seem like a rail baron, so I'm going to say lumber."

"Yes, you're quite right. JJ is starting a lumber venture."

Victoria's eyes lit up, digesting this new piece of gossip. "Where is he going? I thought they chopped down all the trees up north."

"Victoria!" A tall man beckoned to her from the hall.

"Damn!" Victoria said vehemently. "Ladies, please make Emily welcome. As for you dear, you are just darling. Alfred is having a birthday party for me here Friday. Please come and bring your husband. I will see you then!"

Emily fidgeted, finding herself unequal to the task of engaging the others. She was wealthy, respected, she should not have been afraid but old tendencies are not so easily shaken. Bobbing her head politely, she fled, searching for her husband. She found him sitting beside a large window smoking a cigarette and chatting amicably to a fat man with a trimmed moustache, both of them concealed by the miasma of pungent tobacco smoke. He barely looked up at her, but lifted his hand and motioned her down to sit beside him on the plush sofa. Grateful, she sank down beside him, distracted from the nuances of the flow of words between JJ and the stranger by a wave of homesickness. More introductions and hours passed as Emily hung about, wishing she might hide from the inane chattering.

"And why do you linger so close? JJ asked during a quiet moment. "It is not like you to stay longer than you must."

"I believe I have been asked to a party," Emily said uncertainly.

JJ raised his eyebrows, amused. "And you are not clear on this point? The invitation was vague?"

"No, it was particular. Victoria Payne has asked us to her birthday on Friday."

"A powerful woman. Well if she asked you, we had better be there."

+o+o

On Friday at the prescribed hour, Winslow was helping hand Emily from the Rolls Royce into the paved yard in front of the club. Loud brass hummed in the air from inside the building, buzzing just enough that Emily could feel the music in her teeth. JJ smiled at her, extending the crook of his arm so that he might escort her in. His tuxedo lapels shone in the light from the gas lamps, glistening as bright as his oiled hair. Just inside the door, a perfume of cigarette smoke and alcohol pervaded her senses; clearly the Prohibition only extended to those not rich enough to bribe the right officials. Sweeping two flutes of champagne from one of the dozens of roving waiters, JJ handed her one. Enthusiastic jazz filled the infrequent silences. Couples danced in the large side hall, circles of arrogant men discussed shipping prices, and women carried on subtle flirtations with suitors, some more scandalous than others.

"Katherine Jones," Victoria murmured as she set her sights on the Brit. "I have been waiting all night to see you."

She was barely able to flash JJ a wide-eyed glance, an unarticulated plea for assistance, before Victoria seized her by the elbow. She snatched at his coat sleeve with a gloved hand, but his cuff slipped through her fingers and in the next moment Victoria guided her toward a trio women having a tipsy conversation in one corner. Their giggles bordered on downright vacuous, augmented no doubt by the half-dozen empty champagne flutes that had collected on the sideboard. A very nervous looking waiter attempted to negotiate a path to the glasses, but was blocked by a busty dowager who unconsciously seemed to mirror his sidesteps in a comical pantomime.

"Ladies, ladies!" Victoria announced. "May I once again present to you Misses JJ Jones. These are my friends Betsy Harrigan, Julie Friedan, and Daphne Hunt."

"Wonderful to see you again," Emily said.

Like piranhas scenting blood, they descended upon her, asking questions about her family, JJ, their businesses, whether or not she had children. Feeling quite overwhelmed by how much more forward they were than Emily's typically reserved British upbringing had prepared her for, Emily found herself frequently sharing rather more than she had initially intended. Ultimately, she discovered her best defense was to ask the questions rather than answer them. When Victoria became distracted by a request from one of the caterers, Emily began her assault.

Her acquaintances quickly revealed several interesting facts about Victoria Payne. Victoria's husband Alfred was a politician, currently State Attorney General, but vying for gubernatorial duties once the current governor's term in office was complete. His position helped facilitate Victoria's secure position as the gossip queen of the Twin Cities, Saint Paul's best known and most feared socialite. She exchanged so many knowing looks and half smiles with many of the men who passed them, it firmly cemented in Emily's mind that while Victoria was a charming woman she was nevertheless a dangerous one. A sort of female information broker who might break senators or protect friends, depending on her whim.

"Now Katherine," Victoria said when she returned. "Where are you living while you're in Saint Paul?"

"Oh, in a red stone house on Summit Avenue," Emily replied, a bit startled as Victoria took her arm and led her in a small circuit around the room to prevent them from being overheard.

Victoria's eyes widened slightly. "The Queen Anne just two blocks down that was for rent?"

"Yes, I believe that is the house."

"Well, isn't this luck? I live just across the street. We could visit all the time."

_Wonderful…_ "I'm glad to know there will be a friendly face nearby."

"Lovely. We can be rich and bored together."

"I don't know about bored. I stay fairly busy."

"Oh?" Victoria's arched eyebrow demanded further explanation.

Emily took a deep breath, hesitating and thinking about the damage it could do her, because unlike most women of her station, Emily actually had her own business interests. Substantial business interests in the form of a distilling empire.

"Well, you don't hold with this dry nonsense do you?" quavered Emily reluctantly.

Victoria gestured vaguely around them. "Obviously not."

"I distill. Well, not personally, but my father's business was based on it and I inherited it when he died. I own the single largest gin operation in the British Isles."

"Just think of all the money you could make smuggling." Victoria grinned.

"Only to lose all the profits bribing every official between here and the sodding moon."

"Katherine," Victoria said, patting her arm, "I believe this is the beginning of a long and fruitful partnership."

Emily, however, felt as though she had just made a pact with a faulty flintlock pistol and was rather closer to having the priming pan explode in her face than successfully maim an enemy.

+o+o

Despite the soirees and visits to the club, Emily felt only a growing isolation. She buried herself in her business affairs, trying to find solace in her interactions with ink and paper, sending and receiving far more wires than she ordinarily would have done. Ideally, she might have phoned, but she was not to know that a Transatlantic cable was still yet a few years in the future. At last her mind settled on the thought that perhaps she might outfit her new work desk with a blotter to protect the handsome oak, perhaps fresh pens. Even if JJ would not go with her, it would provide her with a concrete excuse to leave the house that did not involve visiting the club or vapid ladies. Over dinner one night, she proposed her idea to JJ. As during most meals, they endured a companionable silence, Emily regarding the sprouts before her with distinct disinterest. She resisted the urge to pick at them, instead choosing to fold her napkin in her lap to hide her nerves. JJ's smooth pale fingers gripped his silverware, juice glistening along the edge of the knife in his left hand.

"JJ, dear," she said, "I was wondering if you might have time to join me one day for a visit to some shops."

"Katherine," he replied, "you know I have been exceedingly occupied with the particulars of this venture and I do not have time for idle tasks."

"JJ, please. We might make an effort to be pleasant. I've hardly seen you since we arrived here."

"That's not usually cause for complaint." A note of wounded pride seeped from his voice as readily as the blood from the roast on his plate.

"I do not complain for I realize your work is more important than clinging to your coat sleeve. I understand it has been difficult to arrange for the new logging venture while also managing our businesses at home. I have also been directing affairs for the mills and distilleries at home, and the task has not fallen lightly."

JJ's expression softened slightly, as he glanced over at his wife; he frequently forgot she was a capable woman and commanded her own little financial empire.

"I simply thought that this might be a mutually beneficial adventure that would not distract long from more urgent matters."

Chewing slowly, JJ nodded. "Quite right. Then Tuesday. I will have time."


	3. Chapter 3: Wabasha

**Chapter 3: Wabasha**

Of course when the time came, JJ was too busy to be bothered.

"JJ, please," Emily said, trying to keep that cloying note of pleading from her voice. "We've been here almost four weeks and I've yet to see much of anything!"

"Katherine, I know I promised, but I just can't right now," JJ mumbled casting around in the papers on his desk for the latest notes from the surveyors. "I have to worry about this camp getting surveyed before the snow really sets in. It's already probably too late in the season, but we'll lose a lot of money dallying if I don't get it finished." He looked up, forehead creased in an infuriating expression of benign indulgence. "You understand, of course."

"Yes," Emily said, all the wind gone from her argument. "Yes, I understand." She laid her hand on the top of the sheaf of notes. "Then please, would it bother you very much if I went out on my own then? I can't visit every night with Victoria Payne, can I? But I can't stay in here, I feel like the walls are closing in on me. Would you mind if I went out?"

"Hmm?" JJ replied, clearly only half listening. "Yes, yes, quite all right. Have fun dear."

Emily sighed, exasperated. Well, then she was going out. She went downstairs with the intent of finding one of the servants to come with her, who exactly she had not yet decided. Sometimes it still felt very strange to have so many servants swarming over the property. She had grown up with relatively few. Her aging mother now had only the cook, her maid and her father's valet, though they certainly had the money for more. Isn't that why JJ had truly been interested in the first place, the grand inheritance of a wealthy heiress whose father had no sons of his own?

Back in England, she had grown accustomed to her house staff and knew whom she could ask for various tasks, but here with the new cook and maids, she was uncertain and even dare she say it, somewhat shy. Shy would not do at all. Her alternative, however, was to go out alone: a potentially dangerous prospect for a solitary woman with no familiarity of the neighborhood. She hesitated there in the doorway, frustrated and too distracted to feel the growing attention of the staff.

"Is there anything I can do for you, ma'am?" the cook inquired when she noticed Emily skulking there deep in her own thoughts.

"What? Oh, no," replied Emily, shrinking back into the hallway. "Thank you, I'm fine."

Well, it looked like if she wished to go out she really was on her own now because if she stood lingering around the kitchen she would begin to seem suspicious and the cook might begin to suspect Emily was scrutinizing her preparation of that evening's lamb. Just as she decided this would have to be the course of action, Winslow appeared from the servant stair, head inclined deferentially to her. His black suit was immaculate as always, gray hair combed with a razor fine part down the middle. Emily looked up at him, relieved, feeling him there as a friend more than ever.

"Shall I pull round the automobile, Misses Jones?"

Emily nodded gratefully, and the ghost of an answering smile pulled at the corner of his lips as he gave a slight bow and turned to the side yard. She put on a cloche hat in the entryway, and briefly surveyed her reflection in the hall mirror. Frankly, she looked silly in the things, but that was the style, and she would not embarrass JJ by appearing as though she lacked the money for proper fashion. She donned a light coat for the fall cold and headed out to where Winslow was waiting at steady attention with his hand upon the open door. A round black cap sat squarely on his parted hair. Slipping into the dark interior of the passenger compartment, she settled herself on the plush leather while Winslow rounded the vehicle to climb behind the wheel.

He carefully polished the side mirror with a little cloth he pulled from his cuff, then slowly eased the car out of the gravel drive and onto the boulevard. Paddy smiled at her when they passed through the gate, and she waved to him through the rear window as they sped away. Emily looked happily out of the window, down the steep hill toward the river valley, then further along to where the cathedral stood dark gray upon the hill against the clear blue sky. The wind blew a few fallen leaves across the browning grass and into the bricked street.

She hadn't realized how much she had been longing to get away from the house and the servants. They passed close to the cathedral and she looked up at the arches and porticos with wide eyes. There was something about church's architecture that made her feel strangely homesick. She mused to herself about what London would be like now. Glancing up she was surprised to see that they had entered into the city, and that Winslow had brought the car along a row of shops on Wabasha.

A valet nearby came to the vehicle and solicitously opened the door for her, while offering his hand. She alighted, pausing to straighten her skirt and take in the length of the busy street. Gray puddles of dirty water still stood in the shadows of the tall buildings from the first of the fall storms. Delivery boys and the odd lorry hustled along, as did men in suits, probably businessmen or maybe men from the capital. A cruel wind cut bitterly down the streets, howling in mild protest as the stone and brick forced a change in its path. She observed all of these things, but she did not notice the shadow leaning against an ash tree on the other side of the street.

The shadow was smoking a poorly rolled cigarette, and had the collar of his worn wool jacket turned against the wind, an over large cloth cap pulled low over blue eyes. Turning, he looked up at nothing in particular, but then threw away the cigarette and stood straight as he noted the expensive Rolls Royce and the small woman standing beside it, holding on her hat with one hand. At first, he seemed disappointed, suddenly tucking his hands deep in his trouser pockets, and slumping back against the tree, but he watched her laconically, for lack of anything better to do.

The valet was attempting to usher Emily into the clothier, but she was ducking and smiling, instead choosing to enter the stationary shop a few doors down. He looked distinctly put out, clearly hoping for a tip from a woman who could emerge from a chauffeured Rolls Royce wearing a diamond engagement ring the size of a plum stone. She ducked into the shop with a few inaudible words of apology to the valet. The shadow tucked his chin deep into his coat with a wry smile for the valet's bad luck on his lack of reward. He fished in his waistcoat pocket for a moment drawing out a very small battered metal pocket watch. There was only a length of leather in place of a proper watch chain attached to the winding stem. It was just after four o'clock and already the sky was darkening rapidly. It would not be long before the sun set, and by then he needed to be on Saint Peter waiting for Tommy.

He swiftly crossed the street and made the best attempt he could at making himself not look quite so woebegone, smoothing down the frayed collar of his shirt and rubbing the toe of one muddy shoe on the opposite pant cuff. Although quite accustomed to these meetings now, for some reason tonight his pulse quickened and a heady rush of adrenaline made his fingers tingle. He could see the rich woman inside the shop, shyly attempting to avoid the shop girl, but it was pointless for a woman wearing a fur ruffed coat to attempt to dodge the attention of a girl who earned half her living by commission. Rubbing the knuckles of one hand across the smooth angle of his jaw, he took a few bracing breaths of the cold air, and installed himself in a more sheltered alcove to wait.

+o+o

About a half-hour later Emily re-emerged from the shop having purchased a good array of pens and ink, envelopes and papers. Even with the advent of better fountain pens sometimes they still made terrible messes and she wanted to protect the little tiger oak writing desk JJ had given her as a gift. It seemed they were ensconced in Minnesota for no small term of time, and it was better she begin to find amusements that did not require a companion or any type of supervision, as being a woman seemed to necessitate both for any activity more involved than using the toilet. Even in the shop it was a little silly. When Emily had attempted to pick up her parcels, the clerk had sent along a boy laden with packages to accompany her to find Winslow. Only when Emily staunchly refused his help, did the boy relinquish his burden to her. As she stepped out onto the street, the wind caught at her hat, briefly blinding her with grit, and as she struggled to steady it she collided unexpectedly with a hard object, dropping all of the brown paper bound bundles.

"For Christ's sake," the object swore gruffly. "Watch where you're going."

As Emily scrambled to pick up the parcels, the shadow's scowling face softened somewhat and he bent down to assist her, carefully rounding up a few pens that had sprung free of their wrapping.

"I'm sorry," he added more gently, swiftly taking a few steps back as Winslow approached.

"No, no I'm very sorry," Emily mumbled flustered. "I did not see you there."

The shadow cocked his head slightly at the unexpected cut of her British accent, and he gazed with raised eyebrows into her face. Not at all what he had been expecting, and with a growing sense of dread, not at all who he should be talking to.

"I will just pull the car round, Misses Jones, if you are not opposed to waiting," Winslow said, gathering Emily's purchases from her. He lingered, looking pointedly at the shadow who simply lifted his hands and began to turn away.

"No, please, that's quite all right," Emily said, evidently to both of them although Winslow interpreted it as a directive to him alone.

Emily fidgeted with her coat buttons as Winslow's lean figure whipped around the corner of the building to a side street. She glanced again at the shadow, before amending, "Thank you for helping me collect my things."

The shadow shrugged. "I knocked you d—"

His head snapped up at the three men who were strolling up the other side of the street. They were laughing, tendrils of white smoke following their lit cigarettes like streamers. Catching sight of the shadow, they approached slowly.

"Tommy," the shadow said at length. Younger than Emily expected, his voice was low but not quite broken, even though the shadow was reasonably tall, several inches taller than Emily herself.

Tommy's eyes were trained over the shadow's shoulder on Emily, who was becoming palpably uncomfortable in the presence of the strangers. Frowning, and then finally following Tommy's gaze, the shadow shook his head emphatically.

"Look, Tommy," the shadow said, "let's go over the next street to the Coney. I was just on my way there. We can talk quietly."

"Who the hell is this?" Tommy asked. "You said you would be alone."

"This dame? I literally just ran into her. Never seen her before."

"The last time you brought your brother along and that ended ugly, didn't it?"

"And it would have been uglier if I _had_ shown up alone."

"Hey, sweetheart, who are you?" Tommy asked pushing past the shadow.

"Tommy, leave her alone. She's leaving now. Aren't you?"

"I'm sorry, I just had a bit of an accident with your friend here," Emily said contritely. "If you gentlemen will excuse me."

"Ooh, we got the queen of England here, boys," Tommy jeered.

Emily's heart began to beat faster, and she quickly searched for an escape route, but the men seemed to have completely surrounded her. Their shoulders were like an impenetrable barrier. She turned a few times on the spot.

"Tommy, get away from her, I'm warning you," the shadow repeated.

Tommy's pivoted to retort angrily, but suddenly there was a sharp _crack_ and Tommy sprawled on the ground like a felled redwood, holding his face. At first, it seemed like the wind itself had cut Tommy down, but then there was a plaintive, "Goddammit!" and the shadow grimaced, trying to shake the pain out of his hand.

"Run!" he shouted at Emily, but she only managed to continue standing rooted to the spot, a shocked expression rounding her mouth.

Throwing caution to the wind, he roughly stripped his coat off and raised his fists, his stance as fierce as a champion bare-knuckle boxer, collar open at the throat, his hand bruised and bleeding freely.

"You broke my nose!" Tommy cried out thickly, blood dripping off his chin onto the pavement. As Tommy scrabbled to his feet, the shadow missed another man's right cross, which caught the shadow square across the cheekbone and knocked him headlong into the wall of the shop, splitting his eyebrow open. People were starting to stop and stare, a few had started to yell for the police. The shadow had recovered somewhat, weaving and trying to dodge the continued rain of blows. Tommy moved so that the shadow was trapped against the wall, but when he went to throw his punch the shadow easily dodged it.

Catapulting himself hard at Tommy's center of gravity, the shadow knocked him away before slamming into the jaw of the second man with a sweeping uppercut. Tommy tried again, but the shadow was much too swift, he leaned to the right, Tommy's fist passing just a hair's breadth from the shadow's left ear. Then the shadow took advantage of Tommy's momentary surprise to lay him out with a perfect haymaker. Panting furiously, hands on his bent knees the shadow desperately tried to catch his breath, unable to see the second man about to tackle him from behind, but then the shadow suddenly whirled and backhanded him hard across the face.

The third man gazed on in disbelief. He made to reach for Tommy, but at the first movement the shadow bared his teeth and roared incomprehensibly. Spattered in blood and sweating, he was so impossibly brutal looking that the assembled company shrank back. There were whistles, and Emily all at once became aware of Winslow, his voice and his extended hand, reaching for her but reticent to touch. It couldn't have taken more than a minute, and yet felt as though it had all been hours, moving slowly frame by frame, a scene in a broken nickelodeon.

Then everything moved in normal time again. The third man was running hard down the street closely pursued by the police. An officer talked loudly into her ear, explaining that they would need a statement from her, but Winslow was arguing that he should take her home. Tommy was still out cold on the bricked walk, his comrade cowering silent and dour faced beside him. The shadow! Emily surreptitiously cast her gaze all around in the deepening darkness, but the shadow had vanished. A pair of newspapermen had been attracted by the ruckus, abandoning a case they had been meant to cover at the capital building. Emily lifted her hands to shield her face, and in doing so turned her head some.

Just there, a pale figure with face obscured by the collar of his coat, nearly at the end of the street, having paused and turned back to see. Blue eyes glinted intensely just for a bare instant in the pop of light from the journalist's camera. Emily blinked rapidly a few times, trying to clear her vision, but for several seconds there was only a bright white blank out before her eyes from the flash. By the time she could see properly again, the shadow had gone.

"No, no, I'm quite all right," Emily heard herself saying. "Please, I'm very tired. Winslow, could you take me home?"

Winslow had taken her solicitously by the elbow and guided her back to the Rolls Royce, carefully seating her inside before angrily rebuffing the trailing police and assorted hangers on. Emily gazed out the window with a glassy expression. _All I wanted was some paper, _she thought. Certainly, it was the most exciting thing to even happen to her since she had arrived in Saint Paul. Easily the most exciting thing she had even _heard _about since coming to America. And who the devil was this boy? Certainly not some kind of vigilante since he had obviously been trying to protect her from his associates. Emily began to think very clearly and carefully about him. Yes, she had seen him before. But, where? The memory was forming like vapor in her mind when suddenly:

"Winslow, stop the car!" Emily cried.

They had just passed on the side of the street a person in mud-spattered jacket, so sunken down into the garment it seemed impossibly large. The collar was high around the ears, hands buried in the pockets. They drew up to the footpath. The shadow stopped dead in his tracks and was clearly sizing up the car when Emily stuck her head out of the window to look back down the way. The shadow raised his sandy eyebrows, or at least they would have been sandy had his face not been so badly bruised and bloodied. The apprehension showed in the tense lines of his slender frame, a slight flexing of the knees made it apparent he thought fleeing was the best of his options. His breath clouded quick and steady on the rapidly cooling air, the dim glow of the gas lamp casting him in silhouette.

"No, please!" Emily said. "Please don't run."

A very faint lopsided smile started across the shadow's mouth, but was quickly turned into a scowl as he realized it damn well hurt to smile. He spat a little blood that had trickled into the corner of his mouth onto the road.

"Strangers don't usually try talk to me from fancy cars," he said carefully. Yes, he was quite young, Emily thought again, voice low and measured, but not quite broken and his accent was dense and strange with long O's and hard consonants.

"Well, I don't normally try to talk to strangers from fancy cars," Emily rejoined. Then as she took in the shadow's much worn and patched jacket and trousers, "You must be freezing. Please, let me give you a lift home."

"No, it's fine. I can make it; I don't live far." He touched the tip of his tongue to his split lip and grimaced. "Besides, I think I'd bleed all over the upholstery."

"Please, it's the very least I can do." Emily pushed open the door and moved aside to allow the shadow a path into the car.

"How do I know you're not going to kidnap me?" the shadow queried, a tiny note of teasing in his tone.

"How do I know you won't beat the tar out of Winslow and steal my things?"

"I think you saw I'm not exactly Jack Dempsey." Then he really did smile. "Look at me."

"You think I could best you?" Emily asked incredulously.

"No, but I think your ex-Royal Marine could," he said motioning to Winslow with a jerk of his thumb. He shuffled his boots on the pavement, considering. "Well, what the hell? The night can't get too much worse."

He climbed into the car beside Emily, sitting with sprawling limbs, as some men do, thighs and elbows akimbo. His face was too much of a mess to make out very clearly, but it seemed very soft, too soft for a thrashing and with clear ice blue eyes. Emily spent a few distracted seconds with her attention focused on the shadow's scraped knuckles and swollen eye. Seeming to notice, the shadow drew his cap down over his gashed temple and tucked his hands beneath the skirt of his coat. There was quite a deal of blood that showed at the cuff of his shirt.

"Katherine Jones," Emily said at length, holding out her hand to shake.

The shadow eyed her extended hand warily, surprised.

"Are you afraid I'll report you to the police?" Emily ventured after a long silence. "I won't."

"Uh, Ned," the shadow said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Ned, my name's Ned."

"I see," Emily said. "You seem to…have nice friends."

This comment elicited a bark of laughter. "Those fools are the last people I would call friends. I'm just angry you had to get involved in that sorry mess."

Ned smiled slightly in apology, quirking his brow beneath his cap.

"Well, where shall we take you, Ned?"

"My brother lives on Selby and Dale. If you could take me there I would be grateful. I can't go back to campus looking like this."

"Are you a student at Saint Thomas, or Macalester?"

Ned looked startled and gazed at her queerly for a few moments, before frowning. "If I had the money to go to one of those schools you think I'd be doing public exhibitions?"

"The bookmakers need to give you a better share of the wagers."

"The bookmakers…" Ned grinned and began to laugh again. "Oh, I like you."

They rode along in silence a block or two, with the passing gas lamps lighting the pair in a garish blaze before plunging them back into darkness. Emily turned to Ned.

"So do you often get into fist fights defending women you've never met?"

"I get into fights sometimes. Usually not over people I've never met, though, no."

A thin trickle of blood started to drip onto the front of his shirt from his cut forehead. Emily hastily offered her handkerchief, which he used to apply some pressure to the wound.

"I'm sorry," Ned said. "I'll be sure to replace this. I told you I was going to bleed everywhere."

"No, it's quite all right."

They reached the corner Ned specified and Winslow left Emily alone in the Rolls Royce with extreme reluctance; only when she all but commanded him to accompany Ned to the landing to ensure he was not too dizzy from blood loss and head injury. Emily could see when Ned's brother came to the door, a young man in an undershirt and braces. The size difference between the two was stark but not astounding, one strapping and his brother lean. _That's _where she had seen Ned before. Ned was a Cook. No doubt he had come around to visit with his brother Paddy while he worked on the house. Not to mention the boy, now that she thought on it, maybe bore a slight resemblance to his elder brother Cook, the sandy fox.

Emily watched with interest as Winslow practically ran back to the car, to drive Emily back to the large house on Summit, but she did not miss when Ned's brother caught him by the lapel and hauled him into the hallway. It was not until later, as Emily lay in her own bed, watching the moon through the wavy pane, that she realized she hadn't even thanked him.

+o+o

By the next morning, Emily was practically a celebrity. Everyone wanted to be regaled with the tale of how ten violent criminals accosted her only for her to be saved by a tall, dark stranger who had kissed her in roguish fashion before disappearing into the night. Nevermind that she had been accosted by just Tommy, whoever he was, and her knight in shining armor was a skinny teenaged boy who had managed to win through sheer luck and the element of surprise. Not to mention he had refused to so much as shake her hand, much less kiss her. In just two days Victoria had taken her around to all of the ladies in the neighborhood, making up her own version to the point where Emily was no longer telling the story at all, merely looking shocked and nodding at Victoria's wild exaggerations.

"There was a whole group of them, maybe twenty," Victoria was relating to a rapt audience at the club the following Tuesday. "And they grabbed Katherine and were threatening to…you know." She bowed her head and continued in a confidential whisper, "They were planning to have their way with her!" Gasps of outrage from the other ladies present. "Just when Katherine thought she would have to lay her womanly virtue before God, out of nowhere this tall strapping stranger appeared. He fought all of them at once! He fought like a bull, a true fighter. He knocked them all out before the police had even arrived. Then he kissed Katherine and vanished!"

"On the mouth?" exclaimed Betsy.

"On the mouth." Victoria confirmed solemnly.

"Oh, was he handsome?" Julie asked breathlessly.

"Beyond handsome," Victoria replied with a knowing nod. "I've never in all my life met a man more dangerous and dashing."

Emily glanced up, expression torn somewhere between amused surprise and scolding exasperation. Victoria had written herself into the narrative during the third telling. The other ladies were positively stunned, and gathered around like a solicitous flock of hens, clucking with admonitions and condolences, but most were really scratching for better feed. Salacious details about the incident, the way the hero had soundly defeated the villains with nary a scratch on him, the way he had winked mischievously. His Herculean good looks. They were all swooning to think that such a man might rescue them from a band of thieves and pillagers on the street. For a time, Emily had some fun watching Victoria's story grow larger than life, but secretly was thankful she hardly had to do anything but agree. Victoria provided the rest. She did it for her own amusement of course, delighting in getting a rise out of them all.

For his part, JJ was mortified that the incident occurred right after he declined to accompany her. He swiftly and soundly quashed any legal proceedings that might involve Emily having to make appearances in court. He even generously offered a reward to the fearless young man that had defended his wife for no other reason than gallantry demanded such action. But no one came forward to claim it. Evidently, the hero decided to lie low for a while. A few times, Emily saw Paddy working on the framing and molding for the new walls with the plasterers, but when they met he assiduously avoided her gaze. Finally, one morning she managed to corner him in a side hallway, but unfortunately not had the foresight to invent a pretense for their conversation.

"Well, it seems you are making a great deal of progress!" Emily effused looking up at the new work on the renovations

"Yes, ma'am," Paddy replied, ducking his head.

"Right! So—uh, you have a lot of wood there. You know—in the framing."

"Yes, ma'am." He was beginning to look suspicious and Emily could see his eyes darting for a way to escape.

Then throwing caution to the wind she abandoned her pathetic attempt at organic communications and got right to the point, "I would like to ask after the health of your brother, Ned."

"My brother!"

"Yes, I brought him home after the fight and I saw you come to the door. How is he?"

Paddy, being a tall man compared to Emily, looked down at her. At first his expression was one of confusion, then his countenance cleared and took on an aura of irritation. "Oh, _his _face is healing pretty well, thank you for asking."

"I'm glad to hear it." Then stepping closer and whispering as loudly as she dared, "Why didn't he take the reward?"

"Wanted to avoid the police. You understand, ma'am, I'm sure."

"Yes, yes, of course. Please, if you see him, thank him for me and let him know I would be happy to give the reward quietly."

"Everything should be quieter about Ned," Paddy replied dryly, then doffing his cap to her, he returned to his work.


	4. C4: A Lutheran in a Catholic Church

**Chapter 4: A Lutheran in a Catholic Church**

After a few weeks everything returned to normal; interest waned, Victoria became enamored in some new scandal, and Emily gratefully returned to her same boring daily routine. Well, she'd asked for a little excitement, even if she got rather more than she bargained for with her ostensibly prosaic trip to the stationery shop. Sometimes, though, her thoughts would still drift to the bruised cheek and gashed eyebrow of the young man slipping in and out of view as the Rolls had passed by the gas lamps lit along the street. Clearly in pain, but there had been such a lively glow behind his eyes, at once jovial, teasing and electric with wariness. Then she would sigh quietly, because in any event, he had not seemed keen to interact with her after the fact. The time slipped on, and soon Emily had begun to not think of him as much. She rather wished she could send him a thank you gift, but did not wish to arouse suspicion around him either to JJ or to the police.

As October wore on, she became increasingly hampered in her leisure activities by the press of her business affairs which were even more difficult to manage than usual. Nevertheless, her curiosity sparked a desire to become more familiar with all particularly American terms and customs if she was meant to stay there for any length of time. She perused many works, making notes and taking solace in being generally scholarly and homebound following her grand adventure buying paper in Saint Paul. Finally, she lobbied Victoria to see if there were any events she could attend to expand her frame of reference. Victoria regarded the whole thing as incredibly dull, but as any good social butterfly, had a complete calendar of events logged in her daybook in case of dire emergency.

The two lounged in Victoria's sitting room, a sumptuous study in dark wood and patterned upholstery with thick Persian rugs covering the oiled oak flooring. Victoria studied her date book at a distance of approximately three feet, the woman being frightfully farsighted but too vain to stoop to the wearing of spectacles for any task in front of a guest.

"There's a lecture at Saint Catherine College today at noon," said Victoria, running her finger down the page. "Count me out. I'd be asleep like that." She clicked her fingers, and twirled her cigarette in its long holder. "A few of the ladies from the club will be there. Anyway, JJ can't protest; you'll be supervised. I can't convince you to come to Hortensia's little party at the club instead?"

"No. Thank you though," Emily said, touching her forehead. "Lord, I think I've had quite enough excitement for a while."

"You need new excitement. Or at least _I_ need new excitement. You would think having two cities to frolic in a girl would have something to gossip about. Lots to talk about if you enjoy stuffy politicians, I suppose."

"Or flour."

Victoria looked startled. "Oh, don't even get me started on Minneapolis!"

Emily smiled. "Thank you, Victoria. Maybe I will drop by again later."

"Keep an eye out at Saint Catherine's. Not much happens on an all girls campus full of nuns, but there's always a juicy tidbit or two if you keep your eyes peeled, Katherine Jones!"

Emily crossed the street back to her own house in order to request Winslow accompany her to the college in an hour. JJ would no doubt be engaged in other affairs, so she did not even bother to ask him. He hardly even seemed to notice her most of the time, and yet vacillated dangerously from outright neglect to jealous constraint. Their relationship had not been a simple one since their marriage. Often, when his eye was upon her, it was as if he did not see her at all, instead gazing through her to something else. For nearly ten years they had coexisted like this, and somehow it never ceased to shake her. She sat down on the lowest step in the main staircase, feeling foolishly girlish to be sitting on the stairs of her own house like a child might. Winslow appeared from a side passage, as though he were a little figure in a cuckoo clock driven by gears. She stood up hastily as he entered the foyer, smoothing down the length of her skirt with an uncertain hand.

"Winslow, would you mind very much taking me round to Saint Catherine's?" she inquired.

"No, indeed," Winslow said smoothly. "I would be more than happy."

"It's for a lecture. There will be several ladies from Church there so you need only leave me at the seminar hall. I believe one of them could help me find my way home so you would not be obliged to wait."

"Master Jonah has been explicit in his request that someone stay with you at all times, madam. He does not want to have another incident like the last."

"Oh, Winslow. I will be with other women at a women's college. I will come home on foot, if someone cannot bring me. The likelihood I would meet riff raff like those silly men from a few weeks ago is nearly non-existent."

Winslow frowned slightly but he didn't protest further. Instead he gave a small stiff bow, and said, "Very good. I will have the car in the side yard in five minutes."

Relieved, Emily smiled and nodded. "Thank you, Winslow."

At 11:55 sharp the Rolls Royce arrived at Saint Catherine's. It rather differed from Macalester and Saint Thomas, the other schools in the area; the former being built on a low swampy piece of farmland in a sort of Gothic interpretation of red brick, with turrets and a stone arch on its centerpiece, and the latter further into the river valley, close to the Mississippi itself, eschewing brick for slabs of Iowa sandstone. Saint Catherine's, however, sat high atop a hill. Derham Hall had the square solidity of a courthouse with thick marble columns surrounding the entryway, and nearby with its bell tower scraping the autumn skies, Our Lady of Victory Chapel. The church was beautiful, Romanesque in architecture with stunning stonework and stained glass. Winslow came around, opening the door, and as Emily alighted from the car she turned her face up to take in the how handsome the chapel was, even though she was not looking at the front of the building.

Instead, she followed footpath around the side, until she came around to the front, finally sighting College Hall as she rounded the corner. She climbed the stairs to the large double doors with light footsteps and was greeted inside by a bright-eyed young woman who took her coat as she entered. The chapel swept down with a row of stone pillars flanking each side, the arches they supported ending high above the four columns of pews, becoming one with the massive vaulted ceiling. She passed a stoup at the entrance to the church, where a nun dipped her fingers into the shallow basin before crossing herself. There were several clusters of undergraduates already sitting in groups in the walnut pews, some talking in hushed whispers, occasional giggles punctuating their conversations.

Emily began to feel quite shy, being older than these girls, but might still have been mistaken for one of them with her short dark hair parted to the side, and her blouse and skirt. Unconsciously, she began searching for someone she knew. To her relief, Betsy entered the chapel almost immediately and happily grasped Emily's arm.

"Oh, Katherine!" the woman exclaimed. "I am glad to see you. Sometimes these events have compulsory attendance for the students and I thought I would be surrounded here on my own. Yes, and look! All these girls."

To be sure, it was the most life Emily had ever seen inside a church before, and it contrasted sharply with the gray and tan stone pillars and general solemn atmosphere of the building.

"Well, at least it seems like they are warming the place up," Emily rejoined. "I imagine it gets very cold in here during the winter being stone and with so many windows."

Betsy looked as though she had not considered this possibility before. "All clouds have a silver lining I suppose! Well quick, quick, let's get settled before Sister Margaret begins her lecture!"

She and Emily took their places at the end of a pew close to the front of the chapel just as Sister Margaret mounted the chancel and squeezed behind the podium. Emily tried very hard to focus on the substance of the speech for the first ten minutes, but if she had hoped for a charismatic speaker, then she was sadly disappointed in Sister Margaret. The old nun could describe the very fires of hell and make them seem like warming oneself before a particularly temperamental radiator, a trivial punishment at worst. Out of the corner of her eye, Emily was amused to observe a tall slip of a girl surreptitiously slither into a seat at the end of a pew two rows in front of her. By the heave of the girl's shoulders she was out of breath, perhaps having run all the way to the chapel. Just then Sister Margaret coughed pointedly, noticeably jarring a few of the dozing girls around her, and drew Emily's attention back to the lecture.

By the end of fifteen minutes, however, Betsy was slumbering peacefully, and Emily found herself once again looking idly around the chapel by way of something to do, admiring the skill of the stone masons and the fine wood work that coexisted with the stone. She was herself beginning to drift off under Sister Margaret's tireless assault when something about the tardy undergraduate two rows ahead piqued her interest. The girl had very light colored wild middle length blonde hair. In a world where cropped waves or curls were all the rage, this struck Emily as a little odd, especially since it was neither pinned or tied, simply falling loose.

Emily watched the girl, slowly becoming aware of slight strange jerking of her head of fair locks. Then, suppressing a grin she realized the blonde was falling asleep, chin falling down to her chest only to wake suddenly and force her face upright again. Emily covered her mouth with one hand and gave herself over to a long and silent fit of laughter. Well, the lecture was a wash, but at least she would not go away feeling the hour had been a complete waste. If she was lucky, Betsy would feel up to walking back with her to Summit. If she was luckier, she could find her way alone, and take in a little of the sweeping greenery of the old fields. Finally, very muzzily, she could hear a lackluster applause come up from the few students who were still aware of Sister Margaret, a sign of their liberation rather than their congratulations, and Betsy woke with a start.

"Excellent," she murmured, clapping although everyone else had stopped. "Excellent."

"Yes, capital," Emily said, in her best imitation of her father's Liverpudlian accent.

Emily rose, offering her hand to Betsy so that she might do the same. Emily allowed a few of the undergraduates to pass their row, attention on the glimmer of clear daylight at the back of the chapel.

"Miss Campbell!" A voice said practically in her ear. Wincing away from the sound, Emily glanced around to see from where it issued, when she was astonished to find it was Betsy. "Miss Campbell!"

To her surprise, the fair-haired girl stood up searching for the caller. She was wearing a dark drop-waist dress that was paradoxically simultaneously too large and too small for her tall boyish frame, being both too wide and too short, her shining hair tousled and falling into her face. She tried to smile, or at least Emily thought she tried to smile, because the end effect seemed to involve a slight grimace with a sardonically raised eyebrow. The dress she was wearing was rather more threadbare than Emily had at first realized, paler and fraying slightly at the cuffs and collar. The shoes were harder to tell as they were caked over in a layer of mud.

"How have you been, dear?" asked Betsy solicitously. "How have you been? I haven't seen you for months."

Miss Campbell turned to face Betsy in the aisle, lifting a nervous hand to push her hair behind her ear, and there cutting a sharp line through one eyebrow was a pink line of new scar tissue. Emily's mouth fell open, and she stared in open amazement at the girl as she stuffed her balled fists into her pockets. This was the shadow that saved her. This _girl _was Ned Cook.

"Hello, Misses Harrigan," Naomi said. "Busy with school obviously. It's hard to get away from the books."

"How long now until you finish?"

"I'll graduate in the spring." She paused before glancing up at the ceiling and adding with mock reverence, "God willing."

"Oh! I forgot you were there," Betsy said, motioning Emily over, "This is Naomi Campbell. She used to tutor my son Henry."

At first, Emily remained rooted to the spot, unable to speak. Naomi half smiled as she lifted her gaze to Emily, but as she realized who she was looking at, her pale blue eyes widened until they were the size of half dollars. Scrambling, the girl pivoted, gripping the back of a pew with white knuckles, clearly contemplating her chances of escape if she vaulted her way over all the pews and dove headlong into the sacristy. But seeming to sense her voyage would be ridiculous as well as impractical, Naomi's shoulders sagged. She sighed, acknowledging her instant for flight had been lost. She had hesitated a fraction of a second too long calculating the ratio of the height of the pews in relation to the length of her dress.

Naomi turned back, expression a blend of guilt, shock, and pleading. The silence dragged on several more seconds, then Emily managed to say, "Yes, thank you. I believe we've met."

"Oh, really! And where have you two crossed paths before?"

Emily laughed uneasily, making a tiny gesture with her hand to Naomi like _Help me!_ but Naomi had the distinct air of someone who has just taken a blow to the head. Emily hadn't seen Naomi breathe since their eyes had met and she was beginning to think the girl might _actually_ take a blow to the head on a rogue pew if she let Naomi swoon.

"Oh! Uhh, wait—yes! It was at a shop, wasn't it?"

Naomi glanced from Emily to Betsy and back again, apparently suffering from lockjaw. Emily thought wildly for something that would satisfy Betsy (and put poor Naomi out of her misery) so with great sincerity she said:

"She paid me a favor, and I'm very grateful."

When Emily let the ghost of a smile turn up the edge of her mouth, Naomi's skin began to regain a little of its color, going from translucent panic to a pink tinge. Betsy, fortunately, seemed oblivious to the undertones of their silent exchange.

"Well, Miss Campbell it has been very pleasant to see you again," Betsy said, then to Emily, "Can I offer you transport back to your house?"

"No," Emily said, eyes still locked with Naomi's, "I think I would like to see what Saint Catherine's has to offer first."

"Oh, yes. Very beautiful. I will see you at the club tomorrow! Ta-ta!"

Betsy cast a last confused, fleeting peek at both of them before bustling up the chapel and out into the autumn air. Naomi fidgeted, seemingly unable to look away, biting her lip. She drew breath to begin to explain, but only let it out again in an explosive sigh, lacing her fingers together and looking thoroughly abashed.

"Ladies!" The woman who had taken their coats was approaching from the door. "I'm sorry to bother you, but we will need to close the chapel soon."

"Well, _Naomi_. Do you fancy a walk?" Emily asked Naomi suddenly.

Naomi considered the merits of this suggestion, her eyebrows raised in surprise, then nodded her assent. Together they gathered their coats, and lingered on the chapel steps, before heading down the slope of grass to the little pond in the middle of the grounds. They stood at the edge of the water, saying nothing for a few minutes.

"I believe we will have to do our introductions again," Emily said, extending her hand. "I'm Katherine Jones."

Unable to suppress a smirk, but ignoring the proffered glove, Naomi replied, "Naomi Campbell."

"Not _Miss _Campbell?"

Making a terrible face, Naomi groaned. "No, please, for all that is holy just call me Naomi. Why that woman insists on calling me miss, I do not know."

"I suppose it makes it more difficult for people to misinterpret your gender."

"It's not my fault that you thought I was a boy."

"It seemed your intent was to make people think you were a boy."

Neither said anything, but if Emily was not much mistaken, Naomi was struggling between looking amused and ashamed at being caught. In her dress in the sunlight, Ned's boyish saunter had left her. Her natural posture was much more feminine, a little shy and uncertain. Her voice was different, too, sweeter and higher without the forced register change. How Emily had ever managed to confuse Naomi for a boy, she didn't know now, but maybe it was because her eyes had seen what her mind expected.

"Am I wrong?" Emily pressed.

"I just—I'm a lot safer, let's leave it at that."

Sensing she was unlikely to get much more out of Naomi on that topic, Emily changed tack. "You are the first woman I have ever met that has gotten into an out and out fist fight," Emily said, searching for something to say.

"You must not meet many women."

"Are you always this shy?"

"I wasn't aware I was being shy."

"You're only answering direct questions."

A smile twitched up the corner of the girl's mouth, "You haven't met many Minnesotans, either."

"Not many, no."

Emily's eyes hadn't left Naomi's face, and she studied the profile hidden by her tousled hair. She knew she was badgering the girl, but a deep desire to keep her talking overtook her better judgment.

"When its warmer sometimes we go rowing on the pond," Naomi ventured, feeling the weight of Emily's keen attention. "I'm terrible at rowing myself. I'd rather canoe."

The mere mention of the rowboat stirred a darkly repressed hatred in Emily as she pictured the craft on the surface of the water. A few Canada geese passed near to them, honking. The wind picked up a little, disheveling Naomi's loose hair even more. Naomi was carefully trying to extract several strands that had gotten stuck at the corner of her mouth, fishing in her pocket for something. Naomi gathered her hair back self-consciously.

"It's not normally like this, but I was late and didn't have time to fix it," she said slowly. Naomi began to work the hair into separate patches, producing two hair pins and holding them between her teeth.

"Yes, I saw you sneaking in late," Emily said with a slight laugh.

"I wuth hopin no one thaw me," Naomi mumbled from behind the pins, carefully smoothing her hair back and pinning it on each side.

With her features fully visible for the first time, Emily saw her they were soft and clean, and she was really incredibly lovely. Her face and hands displayed a fading tan betrayed by the pale white gleam of her upper chest where her dress gaped loosely. Emily looked again at healing scar that cut through Naomi's left eyebrow, and then noticed two more thin lines where Tommy split her lip. She also had a prominent scar right under the curve of her chin, shadowed by the sharp line of her jaw. Reaching up without thinking, Emily nearly touched the girl's mending eyebrow before stopping short, transforming her movement into a staccato wave.

"Did you need to have it stitched?" Emily asked.

"No, Paddy and I packed it," Naomi replied, then shrugging admitted, "I probably should have gotten it sewn up though. "

"Didn't your classmates ask questions?"

"Usually it's broken bones. I thought the black eye would make a nice change of pace."

"You didn't have to do that for me. I never said thank you before, but I want to now. Thank you."

Naomi smiled revealing even teeth, the first genuine smile Emily had seen from her. "Don't worry. My fault those damn fools were there anyway. It's me who should be apologizing."

Clasping her hands behind her back, Naomi walked ahead a few paces, pausing to wait when Emily did not immediately follow.

"Who were those men? Friends of yours?" Emily asked.

Naomi grimaced. "My brother was supposed to be with me—you saw what they were like. But instead I got hung out to dry by myself. I was hoping doing it in a public place would keep it civil." She licked her lips and shook her head. "Don't worry; I've washed my hands of them. It was going to end in tears sooner or later."

"And you fought them before?"

Starting to look uncomfortable, Naomi rubbed the back of her neck. "It hadn't come to blows, no. But anyway street fighting is a hobby of mine." She tilted her head back to take in the clear blue of the September sky. "I go every Tuesday. So your comment about the bookies; very apt." She started to laugh at Emily's shocked expression, her merriment softening into a pleased smile. Then more soberly, "I wasn't going to let them scare you, and I don't know why, but punching that fool in the face felt like the only way I was going to make my point."

"But I was a stranger."

"Not exactly. I'm acquainted with who you are."

"Yes, you are one of the Cooks. Where do you fall in the hierarchy?"

"Well, we're not blood, but we might as well be. Cook is the oldest. Paddy is my little brother."

"I don't think little is a good descriptor."

"Well, he _is _younger than I am at any rate."

Emily nodded, even though she was still burning with questions about everything that had happened, she could feel Naomi trying to turn the tide of the conversation again. They continued on at a slow stroll.

"You're not from around here," Naomi said at last, breaking the silence.

"Did my accent give me away?" Emily teased. "I've lived a number of places, but am late of London. Are you from Saint Paul?"

"No. My family is from a little town north of Duluth called Silver Ridge. And by little, I mean ten buildings. Did _my _accent give me away?"

Emily smiled. "Now that you say it, you do sound different from most of the people I've met in the city."

"So how do you like Pig's Eye so far?"

"What? What is pigsie?"

"Pig's Eye. It was Saint Paul's original name before Catholics showed up."

"Do you dislike Catholics?" Emily queried carefully. "It seems odd for a girl going to a Catholic school."

"Oh, they're terrible. The only people worse are Anglicans."

Taking in Emily's outraged but amused expression, Naomi grinned.

"They can hardly be as bad as Lutherans surely," Emily replied with slightly narrowed eyes.

Naomi nodded with mock gravity. "Be careful with Lutherans. Before you know it you'll be trapped at a potluck with a room full of Norwegians. So do you like Saint Paul?"

"I've not really seen much of it, truth be told. It's been almost impossible to get my husband to leave his work. I have been to the capital, to church, to the club, but really nowhere else."

"Don't forget downtown. I am a witness to that."

"Yes, and downtown, although I don't think I will be back for a time."

"What are you interested in? Do you like art? Reading? Watching the dirty Mississippi flow by?"

"I like architecture, I suppose. And rivers, though not dirty ones."

"Do you like churches? You seemed interested in the chapel."

"I do like churches very much. I think they remind me of home."

Naomi looked up at her kindly, her blue eyes considering. "Saint Paul has that beautiful cathedral on the hill and the basilica in Minneapolis is also nice. Did you go to many places back in England?"

Emily frowned. "I went to a few places, but always the same ones with the same people. I don't have many friends who enjoy those sorts of things you see so often my maid came with me."

"Your maid! She was like a…a companion?"

"Of a sort. She was paid, and of course was kind to me, but it's not the same as having a real friend."

"I see. I've always had trouble making friends myself. To be fair, I guess it's hard when there are only maybe a hundred people in your town and you're related to half of them."

This made Emily smile again, and seeing the amusement in Emily's face made Naomi smile in turn. They walked on unspeaking for a few minutes, passing houses and motorcars along the road they had joined.

"You're from Minnesota," Emily mused. "What do Minnesotans do?"

Naomi cocked her head, perplexed. "As…a group?"

"No, I should say, what are Minnesotan things to do?"

"Uh…in the summer, people spend a lot of time at the lakes."

"Are there many lakes here?"

Naomi's eyebrows shot up and she surveyed Emily curiously. "They call us the land of lakes. We have more lakes than we know what to do with."

"But what do you do in winter? I've heard that it gets very cold."

"We bury lots of acorns."

Emily frowned skeptically. "Doesn't that seem more like a fall activity?"

"Don't want to accidentally get them in the permafrost…" Naomi trailed off when Emily sighed, but went on more solemnly, "It depends on where you live. There are cultural things to do in the city, but if you want to go outside there are winter sports. Curling, hockey, skating, sledding, ice fishing. You can't stay trapped inside for four months. You'd go crazy."

"Or run out of oxygen."

Naomi started to laugh, "Yes, or run out of oxygen."

Fingering the buttons of her coat miserably, Emily lamented, "I don't know how to do any of that, though I suppose I could learn."

Naomi brows drew down into a scowl. "Really? You never did any of those things at home?

"Oh, people do them. But not finely bred gentleman's daughters. Weak constitutions you know."

Emily had just met this girl and was surprised by her own boldness in divulging her thoughts and feelings so freely to the stranger, but Naomi listened, earnestly, with her whole posture. Emily only half realized that they had stopped moving, and Naomi reached up catching hold of a wrought iron fence to lean there with her ankles crossed. Glancing up with an unexpected flinch, she recognized her own house, beneath its sheet of red ivy.

"This is your house, right?" Naomi asked, concerned she'd gotten it wrong.

"No—I mean yes!" Emily assured her. "Yes, it is. I was just surprised we were here already." Then taking in the darkening shadows around them, she added, "Please, allow me to get Winslow to take you home."

"No need," Naomi said, looking beyond her into the yard. There her brother Paddy rolled his eyes and took a deep breath as he saw her. Pulling on his jacket, he approached the pair of them. He touched his cap with some surprise when Emily turned to him.

"Misses Jones," he said in a low voice, barely sparing her a glance before he glared hard at his sister.

"See?" Naomi said to Emily, "Patrick will take me. Won't you, Paddy?"

He bowed sardonically, sweeping off his hat.

"So this really is your brother?" asked Emily.

"Unfortunately, yes," he said.

"You love me," Naomi cut in, snatching his hat and putting it on.

"Thank you, Naomi," Emily said sincerely.

"Don't mention it," she replied, smiling, and with that she punched Paddy in the ribs before taking off at a dead sprint, her brother in hot pursuit. Emily chuckled as she watched the two streak away down the boulevard, Paddy's long legs she thought would have overtaken Naomi more quickly, but the girl was swift as a rabbit and cornered sharply between the trunks of trees as she easily evaded him for nearly two blocks. When he caught her he reclaimed his hat, but more than that Emily could not quite make out. The excited timber of their voices echoed back to her, and the last thing she heard was Naomi's infectious laugh. She turned quietly, still half smiling as she made her way up the drive and toward the side door.

"Oh, there you are, ma'am," Maggie said, bobbing her a brief curtsey. "Mister JJ has been wondering if you would make it home for tea."

The girl put an odd emphasis on "tea" still clearly coming to terms with this British mannerism. Relinquishing her coat to Maggie, Emily passed through the hall into JJ's study, accepting a cup of tea from him with a nod.

"How was your lecture, dear?" JJ asked.

"Very boring," Emily confessed.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"As was I at the time."

JJ bit into a cranberry scone, surveying the surface of the bread with an approving nod. Not knowing quite why, Emily dropped her lips to her tea, silencing anything she might have said about meeting Naomi Campbell. It was keeping her a secret, Emily found later, that would come back to bite her.


	5. Chapter 5: Borrower or a Lender Be

**Chapter 5: Borrower or a Lender Be**

Jogging along the sidewalk in the rapidly cooling evening air, Paddy slipped his numb fingers into the pockets of his coat, drawing the garment more closely around his muscular frame. He mounted the stairs to his building, entering the rented rooms he shared with his Uncle Keith while they were still working on the house. As he slipped inside he could already hear Cook's voice as he laughed at something Keith had said. Paddy shrugged out of his coat, hanging on a peg by the door as she swung around the corner. Cook sat in an old wood chair with his back to the hall, his red suspenders contrasting sharply with the white of his worn but starched shirt. In front of him were Keith and, of all people, Conrad Meinz. Paddy did not like the look of this. Not one little bit.

"Paddy!" Cook said, rising from his chair. "Just the man I wanted to see."

He touched his brothers elbow, guiding him back to the hallway with a muttered apology to the other men, pulling a little more firmly as Paddy resisted, his dark eyes locked on Conrad. Though Cook and Paddy were about evenly matched for size, Cook couldn't very well drag him bodily into the stairwell without causing a scene. His whole body was strung tight, tendons standing out slightly in his neck.

"Paddy," Cook murmured near his brother's ear. "Before you say anything we to talk."

Paddy did not look away from Conrad, but gave a curt nod as Keith started to laugh awkwardly, hurriedly offering to top up Conrad's drink. Turning, Paddy followed Cook into the stairwell, gazing down into his brother's tired eyes.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Paddy demanded, jabbing his finger at the closed door.

"It's not what it looks like," Cook protested feebly.

Paddy raised his eyebrows, obviously disbelieving.

"We are stuck, Paddy. Do I have to goddamn remind you he owns the mortgages on all our property? The only reason he doesn't foreclose is because we help him with running and this business with Schmidt's."

"And what? I'm supposed to just shut up and do it happily?"

"Paddy, we've been through this. You already aren't involved in any of the hot stuff. We should have enough money once we get the final payments from this deal with Jones and next summer's batch. And then I will gladly be done with the man, believe me, but until then I need you to play along, or at least play nice. We all do."

"That's not soon enough." Paddy shook his head.

Cook grimaced. "He's not going to force her—"

"Shit, he's gonna want to see her. He can't."

"Why not?"

Paddy gestured wildly with his hands. "She, uh, got into a fight. Her face is all busted up."

"Goddammit, Naomi. How bad?"

"She looks a lot better than she did. She's probably going to have a scar through her left eyebrow permanently."

"I guess that's why she's been avoiding me. Who the hell did she get into this fight with?"

"Tommy. But there's something else." Paddy hesitated, tugging uncomfortably at his collar. "Katherine Jones was there."

"What? Why didn't you phone or wire to tell me? Does JJ know?"

"No, he's in the dark about the whole thing so far as I can tell. Naomi said it was an accident. They literally ran into each other outside a store in downtown."

Cook glanced at him incredulously. "You know that wasn't a coincidence. Naomi has been wanting to talk to her since she found out who hired me."

"She swears it was an accident." Paddy shrugged. "Naomi was supposed to be meeting Tommy at the Coney Island but he spotted her. She said she was defending Misses Jones."

"Shit. Katherine, how is she?"

"Fine. Grateful to Naomi actually. They walked home yesterday from Saint Kate's. They seemed friendly."

"Look, I can't go see Naomi without taking goddamn Conrad Meinz with me, but tell her to stay away from Katherine. I don't know what she thinks she's doing, but if she's trying to dig up the past just tell her to leave it alone. He's dead and interrogating Katherine Jones isn't going to bring him back."

+o+o

Emily was ensconced at the little tiger oak writing table penning out instructions to her business interests in London; short versions to be wired and more detailed inquiries to partners to be mailed by steamer. Or at least she was supposed to be penning out instructions. About halfway through her work, she found herself sitting stock still with her pen hovering above the page, her thoughts having drifted to the events of the day before. Her mouth twisted into a wry smile, in spite of herself, when she remembered the guilty surprise in Naomi's blue eyes. Even after the incident downtown, she had not thought this intently about her. Then with a slight twitch, she returned her attention to her ledgers to begin again, trying to focus her mind on the advisability of so many lemons and so many limes, and from where they should be obtained. Finally, her list of unfinished tasks dwindled and she stretched languorously, setting all her correspondence in a satchel to be given to Winslow later. Emily laid down her pen and stood up, walking in a slow circle around the room, the floorboards creaking softly. A brisk rap at the doorway made her jump.

"Katherine, dear," JJ said, tucking his handkerchief into his breast pocket, "I'm off to the club. Would you care to join me?"

Emily nodded, suddenly eager to be away from the house. She followed JJ into the main hall downstairs where one of the maids helped JJ shrug into his coat.

"If you could bring Misses Jones' coat as well," JJ said without looking at the girl, his eyes focused on the newspaper he had just picked up from the pile of correspondence on the table. Emily took hat and coat when they were brought with murmured thanks, and went with JJ into the side yard where Winslow was waiting with the car. Although the ride to the club at the crest of the hill took only a few short minutes, when Emily climbed out of the plush leather into the bright sun she blinked, squinting against the light. JJ left her almost immediately in the foyer, solicitously giving her a peck on the temple before retiring to talk about the licensure for the logging operation with one of the local judges. She hesitated there alone for a long moment before she heard Victoria's voice from the next room.

"Ah, Katherine, yoo hoo!" she called. "Come in here with us, dear!"

Smiling half-heartedly, she joined the ladies in the other room. They were gossiping idly as usual, and Emily seated herself in a corner of a flowered divan, at once sorry she had come and glad to be away from the drafty house. She was watching a tiny finch in the box hedge outside of the window when she realized abruptly that someone was talking to her.

"I beg your pardon," Emily said. "I'm afraid I was quite distracted."

"I was just telling the ladies about that lovely talk at St. Catherine's yesterday," Betsy explained. "I said you'd agree."

"Oh, yes. It was magnificent. Really, a splendid oratory effort."

Victoria's raised eyebrows conveyed to her that she had rather overdone it, and she could see by the reddened tips of Betsy's ears she had embarrassed her a little by suggesting the choice had been a bad one.

"It was quite nice," Emily stammered. "To be sure."

Victoria laughed in her silent way, lips pressed together behind her cigarette holder. "Well, I was trapped at yet another of Ralph's dreadful parties yesterday, so I'm sure you couldn't be much worse off than I was!"

"Was the governor there?" Daphne asked.

They were off on a rapid-fire exchange where Victoria pretended to have been bored, and the other ladies lamented jealously that they had not been invited to such an affair. Emily snuck a glance at Betsy who was looking rather austere from Emily's limited viewpoint.

"I'm sorry, Betsy," Emily ventured. "I was quite distracted and was caught off guard."

"It _was_ awful," Betsy admitted, with a small shrug. "Did you get home all right dear?"

"Yes, Naomi walked home with me."

"Really! You two went all that way by foot! That's quite a distance."

"The time flew by really." She paused, unable to help herself from uttering the next sentence in a rush, "Misses Harrigan, what do you know about Naomi Campbell?"

"Oh, a little. Why do you ask?"

"No—no reason. Just curious I suppose."

"She's bright, and she worked a number of odd jobs while she was with me. Seemed to need the money you know." Betsy uttered these last words in a confidential whisper. "I think she lives with an older woman now; the rent must be cheap. I have an address for her if you'd like to send her a note sometime. Just give me a minute and I'm sure I'll find it."

Laying her purse down on the table she dug around until she found a tiny pair of spectacles which she held up to examine a small leather bound book. She flipped through several pages before starting over again at the beginning

"Hmm," Betsy said at last. "Naomi Campbell…Naomi Campbell. No, for some reason I don't have anything here for her. That's very strange. I could have sworn I had an entry. I will check my other date book at home and see if I can find you anything."

"That's all right," Emily said, suddenly self-conscious. "Really it is not an important thing."

"Katherine!" Victoria called to her, startling her. "Come over here, dear, and tell us what a British lady would say to this!"

Emily rose, smiling pleasantly to Betsy as she approached Victoria's cluster of hangers on, happy to provide her most English opinion.

+o+o

A week later Emily found herself rising from bed in a timely fashion, quite before eight o'clock. She washed and made her way down to eat with JJ only to find that he had already departed for the club, no doubt to rub shoulders with the appropriate authorities since some of his downstream licensures with the state were still delayed. Disappointed, she breakfasted alone, served only by the kitchen maid who brought her the requested dry toast looking quite perplexed as to why anyone would want dry toast. As Emily sat chewing, contemplating her rather solitary life in the house for what must have been the millionth time, Winslow appeared bearing a small package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a bit of rough binder twine.

"I apologize for interrupting your meal, but this just arrived for you, madam," Winslow said presenting her with the little parcel.

Emily merely nodded, mouth too full of toast crumbs to allow for polite speech. She briefly brushed her fingertips off on her skirts before reaching for the parcel. Taking a momentous gulp, in which she somehow managed to inhale as much toast as she swallowed, she attempted to thank him between eye watering coughs. Winslow bowed graciously before departing. Dabbing her face on the edge of the tablecloth for want of a better surface, she judged the package. There was no address or writing on any kind. She carefully untied the twine and unfolded the paper to reveal the contents, a scrap of very heavy paper and a beautiful new silk handkerchief, embroidered with her maiden initials EMF. Her _real _maiden initials. For a few moments she stared blankly, swallowing a hard ache in her chest. _No_. Effy had given her the original. Why had she been carrying it that day? Frantically, she shook out the new handkerchief, but there was nothing inside. The old one was gone. Carefully she laid the cloth aside to gaze at the square of card stock adorned with sloping neat handwriting.

_I promised I would replace the handkerchief you loaned me. Here is the new one. Sorry for the delay. –Naomi_

"Winslow!" Emily called, standing up almost at once to rush into the hallway. "Winslow!"

She nearly ran headlong into him as she rounded the corner. Both astonished, Winslow took a few respectful steps back before inclining his head solicitously.

"I'm sorry, Winslow," she said breathlessly. "You said that this just came for me? May I ask who brought it?"

"A young man, I think," Winslow replied, forehead creased as he tried to remember. "He was rather unremarkable looking. He asked to see you, but I advised him you were still over your breakfast."

Emily expression must have betrayed her irritated regret that Winslow had sent the man away. He looked taken aback and continued, "I am very sorry, ma'am, if you wished to see this stranger..."

"Never you mind, Winslow. Was he about this tall with very fair hair?"

"I could not rightly say. He was wearing a large cap."

"Thank you, Winslow. That will be all."

As though in a dream she slowly walked back into the sunny breakfast room, and sat back at her place. One again she fingered the silvery blue of the embroidery, all of the pain and confusion she still felt for Effy cresting like a wave beneath her breastbone. She read the card again, but there was nothing else written, and since it had been hand delivered she could hardly have hoped for a return address. Frustrated, she flipped the card over so as not to have to read it again, and to her disappointment she found the back of the card blank. Suddenly steeling her resolve she made up her mind, and legged out to find Paddy. Why she hadn't thought of him in the first place she wasn't quite sure.

As luck would have it, he was sitting beneath one of the trees at the back, having a discussion with Keith about the wallpaper for the dining room. As soon as he laid eyes on her coming across the lawn, he leapt to his feet, and approached her with the air of a mouse creeping to the side of a sleeping cat. Their juxtaposition struck Emily as ridiculous as they stood side by side, he looming over her, because she was so small.

"What has Naomi done now?" he blurted without preamble, eyes wide.

"What makes you think I want to talk about Naomi?" Emily countered with a raised eyebrow.

"She's like a bull in a china shop." He paused. "But you do, want to talk about Naomi, I mean."

Emily smiled. "Unfortunately, yes. Your sister has something of mine. Next you see her, could you inform her I would like to see her at her earliest convenience."

Paddy nodded, relaxing somewhat. "I'll see her tonight, and I'll let her know."

"Remember, as soon as she can."

+o+o

In the event, Emily did not have to wait long. On the following evening, while she lounged in her library before the fire with a very large volume on the natural history of Appalachia. The maid coughed discreetly as Emily turned a page, drawing her gaze to where Maggie stood in the doorway.

"You have a caller, Misses. Jones," the maid said politely.

Emily glanced at the clock. It was nearly nine. "Who calls at this hour on a Thursday?"

"It's a girl, ma'am. She says her name is Naomi Campbell."

Emily dropped the book with a thump on the carpet before hastily gathering it and laying it on the low table by her knee. She waved briskly to the maid. "Bring her up, please, Maggie."

Not waiting for Maggie to return, Emily stepped across to the landing, surreptitiously amused by the sight of Naomi as she hesitated by the front door. She was clad in a very similar dark dress to the one she had worn the previous week, but if Emily was not mistaken, her shoes were at least less muddy. The girl took a casual interest in a vase of fresh lilies that stood on a side table. As she fingered one of the blossoms, it suddenly snapped off the stem and landed at her feet. Her head whipped around as she heard Maggie's approach from behind, and panicking, she picked it up and held it, looking around wildly for a place to hide it. Her hands scrabbled at the sides of her dress, but evidently she had no pockets because she abruptly stuffed it down her collar, adopting a suitably bored disinterest just in time for Maggie to appear around the corner from the servants' stair. Sighing, Emily retreated from the rail, and when Naomi swung around the corner with Maggie, Emily had resumed her chair by the fire, rising graciously to receive her visitor.

"Miss Campbell, ma'am," Maggie said with a curtsey.

"Naomi, come in," Emily said.

Naomi simply nodded, saying nothing as she wandered into the room, not settling in any one place. Instead, she lingered by the fire, and then went to the huge shelf of books, gazing up at their spines with bright interest. Emily watched her, trying not to smile when Naomi stopped in front of the numerous volumes. All was well until Naomi absently ran a hand over the fronds of the tall fern by the window.

"Er, I wouldn't get too close to that fern if I were you," cautioned Emily.

Naomi started back, though Emily wasn't positive if that was testament to the gravity of her warning, Naomi's incident with the lilies downstairs or yet still some distant fern-involving trauma of her youth.

"Is there something about this fern I should know?" Naomi hazarded, circling the fern muscles tensed for the attack.

"We have a mixed history," Emily replied ominously.

Casting Emily an amused half smile, Naomi turned, tucking a loose strand of fair hair behind her ear before clasping her hands diffidently behind her back.

"Paddy said you wanted to see me," Naomi prompted.

"I'm sorry," Emily said. "I'm not being a very good hostess. Is there anything I can get for you? A drink perhaps? Sherry? A gin and tonic?"

Naomi's mouth hung open for a split second; then a mischievous grin flooded across her face.

"Have I said something wrong?" Emily said slowly.

"I'm not much for gin, but I'll take some aquavit if you have it," Naomi replied laughing.

"I'm not familiar with this…aquavit, did you call it?

"Ohh, you've never had aquavit! I never thought I'd meet someone who hasn't had aquavit."

"What is it like? Maybe I have something similar."

"A caraway flavored kick in the chest."

"I believe Emily Post would classify 'kicks in the chest' as contraindicated in the proper treatment of guests."

"Remind me not to invite you to the Campbell Christmas party."

"Too many kicks to the chest?"

"No, too much aquavit." Naomi's grin waned in intensity until it became a gentle lopsided smile. "Not that you can find decent aquavit anymore. Cook practically cries over his every time."

Emily resisted the urge to smack her palm to her forehead as she remembered once again that liquor was still technically not a legal beverage in America, settling for briefly allowing her eyes to flutter shut in annoyance.

"You seem very familiar with this spirit for someone who has grown up under prohibition," Emily said when she had recovered herself.

"I was around before the ban started, you know," Naomi pointed out. "But you didn't call me here to discuss aquavit or prohibition."

"No, quite right, I didn't ask to see you for that. Thank you, for the new kerchief. It's very beautiful silk, better than the one I loaned you."

Naomi nodded, gratified, but her expression remained expectant.

"The one I loaned you, I did not realize at the time, but it has a…sentimental value to me. I would be very grateful to have it back, even if it is ruined."

Frowning, Naomi tipped her chin up as she thought. "I'll look for it, but I'm almost sure I threw it away when Paddy and I were cleaning up my—uh, you know." She gestured to the scar that split her left eyebrow.

"Thank you. As I say, the new one is very fine, and I would not ask if it were not for the fact that a friend, very dear to me, gave me the other."

"I'll look for it. I promise to bring it back if I find it."

They fell into an uneasy silence, Emily uncertain if the girl wished to stay and strike up conversation, or if she would prefer to be on her way, the immediacy of their business together complete. Fortunately, Naomi's roving gaze fell on the large volume by Emily's chair and she cocked her head as she attempted to achieve a proper angle for reading the title on the spine.

"Do you have much interest in natural history?" Naomi asked.

"I think I have too much interest in books in general," Emily replied with a self-conscious smile.

"You seem to have a lot of them."

"This is only a very small fraction of my total library. I literally have room upon room of them in my country home."

Naomi's eyes widened. "What kinds of books do you have?"

"Fiction, histories, very boring volumes of Latin grammar. Books on physics and medicine, epic poems from all over the world."

"May I?" Naomi came around the sofa and touched the leather cover of _Appalachia_.

Emily assented, and she smiled softly as Naomi flicked open the pages, running her fingertips over a color plate of the natural bridge in Virginia as she gingerly brushed aside the tissue guard.

"These illustrations are amazing," Naomi breathed, looking up at Emily with undisguised excitement.

"Why don't you borrow it?"

"What? I couldn't. This book must have been expensive."

"In fact, anything I have here, consider it a lending library. Borrow whatever you like."

"Really?"

"Really."

Naomi's genuine smile buoyed Emily, filling her with strange warmth to see the tall figure handling the book with reverent joy.

"Here, one of my favorite plates is near the back," Emily said, leaning over Naomi as she flipped to the right place in the book.

"Whitewater Falls in autumn," Naomi read aloud from the caption.

Together they followed the contours of the white cascade of the falls as it traveled down, surrounded by red and yellow leaves.

"It's very beautiful," Naomi murmured close to Emily's ear. "I can't take it. Knowing me, I'll drop it in a puddle."

Straightening up, Emily shook her head. "How's this, I have Winslow take you home, and then you bring me back the book next Tuesday. So I can check on it, just in case."

"I can get home on my own."

"Please it's dark and starting to get late."

Naomi made a sound of disagreement in her throat. "I feel a lot safer outside than I do indoors. At least outside you can see what's coming. No corners or hallways to block your line of sight."

"I can't convince you?"

"Not on that…but I will come back with the book on Tuesday. What time?"

"Whenever you are free, I will be waiting."

Naomi rose, tucking the book under her arm. Emily escorted her down to the front door, not something she normally undertook, but did summon Maggie to help Naomi on with her coat. Surveying herself for a moment in the mirror beside the door, Naomi smoothed the collar of her coat. The tips of Naomi's ears went pink as she noted the reflection of the lilies standing on the table in the entryway. On impulse, Emily fished one from the vase and pressed the dripping stem into Naomi's custody.

"To go with the one in your undershirt," she whispered cheekily, before ushering Naomi out the door.

Naomi's mouth fell open as she blushed furiously, eyes unnaturally blue in the darkness of the front landing. A challenging smirk was the last Emily saw before Naomi turned on her heel and walked down the footpath toward Summit.

* * *

**A/N: So I'm failing at sporadic. But I'm sure you're all complaining about that...**


	6. Chapter 6: Enemies and Allies

**Chapter 6: Enemies and Allies  
**

Emily adjusted her spectacles yet again, finally removing them in frustration to bend them into a more agreeable position so that they would stop slipping down her nose as she bent over her papers. Today's task was bottling, specifically choosing a new style of bottle down to the shape, color and weight, then the artwork for the labels. The cost estimates and bottle models were laid out across her desk while the empty wooden crate rested on the floorboards near her foot exploding with its wealth of packing straw. Beside her Victoria stood at the corner of the desk, swirling a sample of gin in a tumbler, sniffing the liquid before tossing it back with relish.

"Gin always tasted like turpentine to me," Victoria commented, "but this is not bad."

"Maybe to the untrained palette," Emily teased. "I take it you need another sample, for purely scientific inquiries?"

"Katherine Jones, you know me too well."

Laughing, Emily retrieved a decanter of her best London dry gin, and poured a neat measure into Victoria's empty tumbler. To this she added a wedge of lime from the sideboard. Victoria sauntered away sipping at the gin as she sat on the sofa, making a great show of crossing her legs and taking up a catalogue of French fashion from the coffee table, leafing through it lethargically. Emily stowed the bottle back in the cupboard, sitting at her desk once more to examine the label proofs.

"Why are we not at the club right now?" Victoria asked in a bored voice.

"Not all of us live lives of wealth and idleness," Emily said.

"And why not? Your husband is rich enough for the both of us."

Emily rather doubted that but said instead, "Why, do you fancy him?"

"Ugh, the lying and secrets and jealousy. Adultery takes so much effort."

"Lucky for you I am not the jealous type. Have him if you are so keen."

Victoria gasped in mock outrage. "Katherine Jones, you are a wicked woman. What if he heard you say that?"

_You would not be the first_, Emily thought, momentarily panicked at the prospect of confessing such a thing to the biggest gossip in all of Minnesota. Emily jumped slightly as a brisk knocking sounded from the front door. A few Minnesotan accented pleasantries floated up as Emily pricked her ears to the voices. Turning in her chair, Emily faced the doorway, unsurprised when Maggie announced Miss Campbell in clear tones. Naomi appeared more composed than the previous occasion they had met, with her hair pinned neatly and her dark colored dress actually an appropriate size for her lean frame. _Appalachia_ lay in Naomi's arms, hugged to her chest.

"Come in, Naomi," Emily said. "I'm glad to see you. I'm not sure if you're acquainted, but this is Victoria Payne."

Victoria lazily lifted her gin glass in greeting, her attention only briefly distracted from the catalogue in her lap by the sight of the Naomi skulking just inside the landing like a frightened schoolgirl.

"We've met on one or two other occasions, Misses Payne," Naomi said with an ostensibly polite nod, a barely concealed note of contempt harshening her voice.

"Really, dear? I don't recall, but I'm sure I'll remember you now."

Naomi's startled, incredulous expression indicated she quite thought Victoria wouldn't remember anything about their meeting, but Victoria did not notice, having returned to the catalogue. She bounced her foot excitedly as she imagined herself in a new mink stole. Indicating the sofa, Emily invited her to sit. Emily suddenly felt inexplicably nervous in her own sitting room, while Naomi looked quite at her ease, excepting her occasional sidelong glances at Victoria, leaning back into the sofa gazing about with appreciation at all the books.

"Uh, well, right," Emily began uncertainly. "Can I offer you anything? Something to drink perhaps?"

Naomi half-smiled. "Are you breaking the law again or are you offering me something more prosaic?"

Emily frowned. "Who offers a girl spirits at ten in the morning?"

"You offered me spirits at nine-thirty," Victoria interrupted, waving her gin glass again.

With that, Victoria drained her gin, setting the glass on the side table. Naomi stifled a contemptuous chuckle, her blue eyes bright with amusement. She looked up at Emily shrugging with exaggerated innocence, as she said, "No, that's all right. I'm fine, thank you. Miss Reyes, my landlady, does feed me. Well, not liquor obviously, but she doesn't force me to forage in the woods."

"Did you like the book?"

Naomi set the heavy volume down on the mahogany table, tapping the cover happily. "Yes, the plates were fantastic. The text was a little funny in places especially that story about the alligators, but well worth it just to look at the illustrations."

"I quite agree. I must admit I enjoy the prints more than the content of the book itself, but then that is why I purchased it."

Victoria's gaze flickered back and forth between the pair, somewhat aghast at the discussion currently taking place in front of her. Her annoyance at the dead boring content of the conversation showed plainly in her face. Closing her eyes briefly in gentle exasperation, Emily waved her hand at the liquor cabinet, clearly offering Victoria free reign of its contents. Clutching her tumbler, Victoria ambled over to the place where the gin bottle lay hidden, while Emily took her vacated place on the sofa to address Naomi.

"Thank you for…letting me borrow it," Naomi said, faltering about halfway through her sentence as she watched Victoria decant what looked like half the bottle.

"I shouldn't have bothered with the glass," murmured Emily in an undertone, earning a quick lopsided grin from Naomi.

"Yeah, but slugging it from the bottle is a little conspicuous. Even for Misses Payne." Emily snickered, but then Naomi went on, "I feel like I should return the favor somehow."

"This is a very small thing. Letting you borrow books takes literally no effort on my part."

"You know how you can help, Katherine?" Victoria cried suddenly. "This woman needs a secretary! She is always writing this letter and that letter. Doing accounting. Accounting! She needs more free time to spend with me!"

Naomi recoiled, eying Victoria with a slight sneer as the Payne woman leaned against the sideboard. She glanced over her shoulder, taking in the room, eyes lingering over Emily's writing desk with its burden of bottles and papers. Emily raised her eyebrows, frowning a bit guiltily to be caught with her correspondence in such a state of disarray.

"You do seem like a busy lady," Naomi said.

"Unlike most women I know, I actually have my own property," Emily explained. "My business affairs are often difficult to manage on that count alone, but doing so from a distance of several thousand miles has definitely added an element of the impossible to the equation."

"A sensible person would have a secretary, but not Katherine!" Victoria interjected.

"I had one," Emily said. "My personal maid Enid often handled some of the particulars, but I did not feel right trying to make her leave London."

Naomi's expression grew introspective, considering. "I'm no stenographer, but if you need help, I'm your girl. What if Icame once a week? You know, for a few hours? I can read and write and do basic math, or so I've been told."

"With my letters? With your handwriting and dodgy American spelling?"

Naomi smiled at the derisive jab at her penmanship. "Hey! I'm versatile. And if I'm copying for wires, who will know?"

"Because I'm letting you borrow my books? You want to play secretary?"

"Why not? It seems like we'd both benefit from that."

Victoria nodded sagely at this admission.

"I will agree to this on one condition," Emily said carefully.

"What's that?"

"That you allow me to pay you, like a proper assistant. You come _twice_ a week, at your leisure to help me with odd tasks and I pay you for your time, twice your normal rate as a tutor."

Naomi sat stunned, not sure what to say in response. Also surprised, Victoria slopped about an ounce of gin onto the Oriental rug.

"Until Victoria said it, I don't think I had even considered it, but I do probably need someone to help me. Betsy recommends your skill. Please say you'll at least think on it."

"Yes."

"What?"

"Yes, I'll help."

Emily smiled, but caught herself short as she contemplated the fair-haired girl before her. It wouldn't do to have her involved in the distillery affairs, not with the current attitude of the American government towards spirits. There were other (less alcoholic) business pursuits she could put Naomi toward. That made up her mind; Naomi would be her right hand on those accounts. If Naomi was half as competent as her brother, which Emily rather suspected, her choice would be an excellent one.

"Splendid!" Victoria squealed, slurring a bit as the gin started to catch up with her.

"What do you need me to do?" Naomi said, approaching the edge of the desk and ignoring Victoria's outburst.

"Nothing just yet," Emily muttered hastily, stuffing the labels for the summer blend beneath the corner of a large thesaurus. "Uh, mostly—copying, doing sums, probably other…odd tasks."

"Well, if you don't need me now, when should I be back?"

"Thursday, whenever does not conflict with your coursework."

"In the afternoon?"

"Yes, that would suit fine. Did you want to look for another book?"

"No," Naomi said. She paused, working her face into an apologetic scowl. With a tiny flick of her head toward Victoria, Naomi turned toward the window. Emily tipped her chin down as Naomi's mouth pressed so close to her ear the Minnesotan's breath came hot against her neck, making her shiver involuntarily.

"I looked high and low for that handkerchief you loaned me," Naomi whispered, "but I couldn't find it. I'm sorry."

Emily swallowed, burying her disappointment. "I quite understand. It was only an object after all. I'm sure I will quite forget about it."

"I'll keep looking. I'm sorry, I had no idea you'd want it back after I'd bled all over it."

"I'll see you Thursday?"

"Thursday."

With a terse nod, Naomi headed toward the landing, giving Victoria a wide berth from where she lingered half slumped against Emily's armchair, having conclusively been completely overtaken by her gin consumption. She hiccupped softly, smiling sheepishly up into Emily's indulgent laugh.

"Victoria," Emily said, taking the woman by the arm. "Sometimes you have wonderful ideas, even when you're drunk."

"Offering people spirits at ten in the morning," Victoria admonished, shaking a scolding finger.

"Victoria, I've been meaning to tell you. I'm joining the women's temperance movement."

Victoria's mouth opened and closed several times without articulating anything. When she finally found her voice she growled in a low serious tone:

"Katherine, that is the cruelest thing you have ever said to me."

+o+o

Meanwhile Naomi stood outside the front door, biting the inside of her cheek. Cook was going to be angry with her, but the hell with him. She was a grown woman and if she wanted to see Katherine Jones she'd do it. Most of all she needed to ask Katherine about Freddie, but every time she saw her, it grew that much harder to find the words.

+o+o

On Thursday at two o'clock, Maggie brought Naomi up to Emily's library. It was cold and windswept out of doors and Emily urged Naomi to stand near to the hearth to warm herself before they addressed any other matters at hand.

"Can I get you anything?" Emily said.

Naomi sighed, rolling her eyes before smiling. "I'm all right, thanks."

"Perhaps a biscuit at the very least?"

"A biscuit? Why a biscuit?"

"Do Americans not have biscuits?" Emily returned bewildered. "No, of course you do, Victoria had them at her last party."

"Biscuits? Ohh, you mean a _biscuit_. Sweet ones."

"Yes, are they commonly called something different?"

"We also make fluffy bread things you could call biscuits. But, if it's not too much trouble, biscuits would be fine."

Emily nodded before turning to the bell on the side table. She rang it sharply and directly Maggie emerged in her long apron from the servant's stair. She bobbed her head briefly and then stood waiting for instructions. Emily murmured a few words to the girl and then returned to where Naomi was seated, taking a spot on the sofa opposite, only the low mahogany table separating them. They hesitated in silence together, Naomi still distracted by everything in the room despite visiting twice and Emily too awkward to speak.

"What are we doing today, Misses Jones?" Naomi said at last.

"Really, it seems silly for you to call me Misses Jones. Please, call me Katherine."

Naomi shifted, the set of her shoulders conveying her distinct discomfort at the request.

"How far apart are we in age?"

"I'm almost twenty-two." Then at the look of surprise on Emily's face, "I've always looked young for my age."

"Then we are only five years distant. I'm hardly your grandmother. You must call me Katherine, that settles the matter."

"Katherine," Naomi relented, testing the word out like an exotic blend of tea. "That will take some getting used to."

Just as Emily was about to comment on the books, Maggie reappeared and set a large tea tray on the table laid with tea things and a plate of assorted biscuits. The maid curtsied and vanished into the stairwell again. Emily carefully poured out two cups of tea, placing Naomi's before her on the low table. Naomi's interest, however, was exclusively focused on the biscuits, evaluating the weight, shape, and make up of each one. Selecting one in particular, a thin biscuit of sandwiched currants, she took a shameless bite from it, her eyes twinkling with a kind of juvenile joy. Appraising the cup of tea with something close to distrust, she lifted the cup to her lips and took a small sip. The ghost of a grimace narrowed her eyes, but it was so transient it might only have been a trick of the light.

"I'm sorry," Emily said. "Leave it to me to serve the tea improperly. Do you take milk or sugar?"

Naomi rubbed the back of her neck uncomfortably. "Uh, well, to be completely honest I've never had real black tea before."

"It probably seems rather bitter to the uninitiated."

"That's a word for it." Then after a moment, "I didn't realize you were friends with that Payne woman."

"After a fashion. I think friends may be a strong word. _You_ don't seem very fond of her."

Naomi shrugged irritably and changed the subject. They discussed the poor weather in a detached way, and the possibility of rain over the next week. Emily thought it seemed the weather would hold, while Naomi considered it exceedingly unlikely. Her justification was comically vague as she tried to reason out that she could feel patterns in the weather after twenty years of reckoning outside conditions and time of day by the sun, the moon, or her own gut instinct. Eventually the time came to actually get to work, and Emily led Naomi to the desk, seating herself and drawing out a thick red ledger. It did not escape Emily's notice as they rose, however, that Naomi had somehow consumed all of the currant biscuits, leaving only a smattering of crumbs. Naomi rubbed her hands together, leaning over Emily's shoulder to examine the book.

"Do you want me to balance the books?" Naomi suggested. "I'm decent at shoring up numbers."

"Oh, no. I have several overpaid clerks in England who do those things for me," Emily said. "I actually need you to go through these and help me figure out who my father bought bottles from between 1910 and 1920."

"What?"

"Help me get a better price on bottles. Or at least convince a few investors that I will."

"But all that glitters is not gold."

Emily crinkled her forehead. "They are already getting a ridiculous return. And in any event the quote is 'All that glisters is not gold.'"

"Pedant," Naomi complained, smiling good-naturedly.

"I have been accused on occasion. Here, switch places with me," Emily said, maneuvering so that Naomi could take her chair at the desk while Emily stood beside. "These are all of the prices we've paid on bottles in the past ten years, but before that I have no idea. Do you think you can muddle through that while I read some letters?"

Naomi nodded critically, focusing her blue eyes on the papers in front of her. "Could I have a pen and some paper for notes?"

"Yes, of course." Emily touched one of the drawers on the desk. "Take whatever you need from here."

Emily turned away, settling on the sofa with a stack of wires and letters from England. They worked in silence for quite a while, until Naomi let out a frustrated grunt. Emily rose, looking at the word where the blonde's finger touched the page.

"What does this say? Draut? Drowt?"

"Draft."

"Spelled with a-u-g-h-t?"

"Yes."

"You don't spell graft g-r-a-u-g-h-t. What about p-l-o-u-g-h? Is that pluff?"

"No, that's with an 'o.' There are some differences between British and American spelling."

"Already some strange differences in our pronunciation."

"Yes, you Americans say all kinds of things oddly."

"Like what?"

"Aluminium."

Naomi's eyebrows lifted in query, then the corner of her mouth quirked up. "I'm not really sure what you're saying. Are you sure it's a word?"

Emily tugged the pen from Naomi's hand, printing it neatly on the paper by Naomi's elbow. "So how do you pronounce it then, Minnesota?"

Naomi leaned her cheek on her upturned hand, reclaiming the pen from Emily. "Are you paying me to compare accents or look for old market rates?"

"I'll have you read from a list of words with 'o' some other time. House, roof, now…"

Naomi laughed, a warm full-chested sound. "I hope you know a good translator."

+o+o

Over the next several sessions, Emily quite felt she had developed a rapport with her young assistant, so much so that her casual reference to Naomi as "Minnesota" had stuck as a sort of nickname, though she didn't use it often. Mostly the pair worked but the tea became a ritual, especially since Emily had ascertained Naomi had a particular and peculiar fondness for currant biscuits. As the weeks passed, Emily found this tea was her favorite part of the day, a chance to see Naomi's smile and talk about things that weren't gossip and weren't inane. Naomi turned out to have a surprisingly deep knowledge of literature and history for a self-professed country girl from Silver Ridge. They frequently discussed books and which ones Naomi would like to borrow next, but sometimes they talked about themselves.

"So where do you live in the city?" Emily asked one afternoon.

"I lodge with a woman near Saint Kate's," Naomi replied, on her fourth or fifth biscuit already.

"Why not take a place in the halls?"

"Expensive to live in the dorms with the catering and such."

"So it was purely an expense consideration?"

"Well, my rent is just about nothing. Miss Reyes, my landlady, she's a bit eccentric."

Emily smiled at that description. "In what way?"

"She used to be a dancer in Havana. Sometimes its like she forgets she's fifty and not in Cuba anymore."

"How on earth did she get all the way up here from Cuba?"

Naomi shrugged. "I only know what her nephew told me. He's the one who pays her expenses. During the Spanish-American War she fell in love with some soldier from a Minnesotan volunteer regiment they called Llaves. She never knew what his real name was but she loved him enough to follow him back here and try to find him."

"That's quite a romantic story."

Pulling a face, Naomi laughed. "Yeah, I guess it is. Anyway, I mostly get room and board for looking after Miss Reyes. Sometimes she does funny things like putting on her old costumes, but she's harmless." Naomi took a sip of tea before leveling a serious look at Emily. "Did you go to school in England?"

"Yes," Emily replied, "I was educated at a series of boarding schools and was meant to attend finishing school but I was married before I completed my course."

Naomi took another biscuit. "How old were you when you married? If you don't mind me asking, of course."

"I was seventeen, so that was…Lord, nine years ago now. JJ and I married just at the end of the Great War."

"Did he fight? Cook was too young to go but we had several friends who went."

JJ was a gentleman's son, so naturally he hadn't gone to be mired in fear and mud in France, but it seemed a disservice to the young men Naomi had known who had probably had not come home again. Instead of responding, Emily rang the bell so that Maggie could collect the tea things. Emily turned back just as Naomi was once again biting back the urge to ask Emily about Freddie. She was starting to wonder if she'd ever be able to do it, because after all maybe Cook was right. Asking about him wasn't going to bring him back.

+o+o**  
**

A few weeks later, Sunday morning dawned cold and blustery, with gray clouds hugging close to the earth. The last of the fallen leaves whipped in a dry rustle across Summit and the yard around the house. Emily attended church with JJ wishing she might have kept her muffler on through the service, shivering beside him in the drafty stone building. Even when they returned home and settled beside the fire in JJ's study before luncheon, Emily could not seem to shake the chill from her bones. JJ sank into his armchair spreading the newspaper across his knees.

"Katherine," he said suddenly from behind his paper fortress, "I have been meaning to ask you about that girl who visits."

"Naomi?" Emily asked.

"Yes, that tall fair girl."

"What would you like to know?"

"She seems to be about often." His tone held the merest trace of a warning, and she cringed knowing now where his loaded questions would lead.

"I've hired her," Emily admitted tentatively.

"Hired her! In what capacity?"

"As a secretary of sorts. I have been overwhelmed without Enid."

"Hmm, Enid. I had forgotten about her."

"Is it…all right that I engaged her?"

"I suppose I wish I had been consulted first. We took on Enid together." He paused, uncrossing and recrossing his legs beneath the trailing edge of the newspaper. "And she…you are, _composed_?"

She felt a welling mixture of shame and gratitude for his concern. "Yes."

"You are certain, there is nothing else?"

"How many years must I prove myself?" she whispered.

"I only worry for you, Katherine. You know I do not inquire to be cruel. Especially after—"

"Don't."

He'd been the first one to catch her, and not simply in a compromising position, utterly in flagrante delicto, her chin shining wetly in testimony to her indiscretion. But he had held his peace. It was her sister, the real Katie, who had eventually thrown her to the dogs, and then JJ had been her only ally. Most days, he was still her only ally. Even Effy abandoned her in the scandal that reverberated through the upper echelons of their social circle. Emily's parents committed her to a sanitarium, and there she'd stayed for months. To be cured.

"There is nothing else?" JJ repeated, voice unexpectedly soft.

Emily searched herself, relieved to feel only numbness, and very deep the same unhealed ache she carried always. "No, I swear it."

"We'll have their whole damn family employed before long," he said at length without heat. "I have half a mind they are doing it on purpose."

"Are you very vexed?"

"No, but do talk to me in future."

"Of course, JJ." She paused, head bowed. "Thank you."

"Not at all, my dear. Not at all."

Not once during the exchange had JJ emerged from the newspaper. It was rather like having a conversation with an anthropomorphic chair. Chastened somewhat, Emily gazed out the window, surprised to see large fluffy flakes falling past the pane. JJ finally folded the paper, laying it across his knee as he also turned his dark eyes toward the window, following the direction of Emily's attention. His face registered a gentle disgust as he rose and crossed the room to peer outside.

"My, it is falling thick," JJ commented idly. "I wonder how much will accumulate."

Emily did not reply, balling her fists convulsively on her knees, mired by her own self-reproach. He had only her best interest in mind; she mustn't feel stifled by him. She mustn't feel like she was suffocating a little more day by day.


	7. Chapter 7: Ironic Invitations

**Chapter 7: Ironic Invitations**

By teatime the next day the snow had not abated, completely blanketing Saint Paul in a glistening white robe. It was nearly nine o'clock before the clouds finally parted to reveal a dazzling full moon over snow a full foot deep. Emily was tending to some wires that needed to be sent back to England in the morning when a familiar voice perked her ears. Maggie's giggling preceded her up the stairs along with Naomi's more colorful Silver Ridge accent.

"Miss Campbell to see you, ma'am," Maggie said politely, announcing Naomi's presence.

Naomi rounded the corner in the same much-patched jacket and trousers Emily had met her in. Her waistcoat was misaligned; two buttons at the top had no holes to house them, and her tie was knotted carelessly, sitting askew on her throat before straggling down the left side of her waistcoat. The girls exchanged an amused look as Maggie rushed away, and for a few moments Naomi stared after her, fighting down a laugh. Naomi's hair flowed down over her collar, almost brushing the tops of her shoulders, her hands clasped behind her lean hips.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" Emily inquired, gazing sidelong at Naomi. "In trousers no less?"

"It snowed," Naomi stated by way of reply, inclining her head toward the window.

"An odd hour for visiting to discuss the weather?"

A wicked smirk crept up one side of her mouth. "When we first met you told me something," Naomi elaborated. "Do you remember what it was?"

"That I didn't like dirty rivers?" Emily guessed wildly.

Naomi laughed. "You did say that didn't you? Not exactly what I had in mind."

"I'm not sure."

"Come with me."

"Right now? Where are we going?"

"You'll see!"

"Out there? In all that snow?"

"You'll be glad you came…"

Donning coats and hats and mittens in the dark front closet, Naomi grabbed Emily's hand and together they snuck out of the back, circling round the house to gain Summit by the cover of darkness, the gas lamps and the bright moon lighting their way. At the front gate, Naomi swept a truly large silver service tray out of the snow and held it out to Emily.

"What is this, are we catering some sort of winter festival?" Emily cried.

"As delightfully bizarre as that sounds, no," Naomi replied. "We are going sledding."

"On a tea tray?"

"I can't tell whether you're excited or exasperated," Naomi teased, her lopsided grin widening.

"You don't have a proper sled?"

"Not here. Obviously I have one, but it's in Silver Ridge and that wasn't very convenient for spontaneous nocturnal adventures."

"Do you often have spontaneous nocturnal adventures with people?"

"Only you apparently."

Naomi loped easily through the snow, movements of a person long acquainted with cold winters in their various delights and punishments. For her part, Emily scrambled along in her wake, able to make her way a bit faster by following Naomi's trail, placing her feet into the packed holes made by Naomi's booted feet. Finally Naomi slid to a halt near the intersection where the University Club stood.

"Here?" Emily said tremulously as she recognized where they stopped. "Are you completely mad? You expect us to sled down Ramsey Hill and not die painful tragic deaths somewhere near the bottom?"

"Oh, it's not that scary," Naomi replied, gesturing down the hill.

"You'll excuse me if I have no desire to meet misadventure in the manner of Ethan Frome."

"Jesus, your literary references are never ending."

"Says the girl who understands all of them."

"Come on, it'll be fine."

Emily shook her head disbelievingly, gazing down the dimly lit slope with an expression of mixed awe and terror.

"Well, if you think it will be safe," Emily said uncertainly.

Finally cracking, Naomi threw back her head, howling with laughter until tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Naomi gasped out. "The hill I'm headed for is just around the bend. I don't even like _walking _down Ramsey."

"I will get you for that, Naomi Campbell," Emily growled. "When you least expect it."

"And that will be—" Naomi stopped short as a large snowball hit her square in the face. "Oh. Right now."

Emily smiled smugly, brushing the snow from her mittens as Naomi wiped the melt water from one eye.

"You have a good arm for someone who's never been sledding," Naomi said with an arched eyebrow. "You're on my team if we ever get in a snowball fight with Cook. God, he used to make me cry when we were kids."

"Seeking revenge, hm?"

Naomi grinned. "We'll have to test out your aim another night. Come along, then, Katherine."

Fresh snow has a particular sound to it when it's first packed, and it was that bright squeaking crunch that filtered back to Emily from Naomi's preceding footfalls. Emily found she had to leap from footprint to footprint as Naomi's legs were so much longer than her own. Together they bounded through the snow until they came to a much gentler hill, normally grassy with few trees. Glancing around, Emily felt herself bubble with more joy than she had felt in ages, to be out in the dark with an insane girl wearing trousers. Her breath clouded in clean white puffs in the frigid air, glowing in the streetlight.

"It's lovely, Nai," Emily said.

"What's lovely?" Naomi asked over her shoulder.

"The snow, the moonlight, everything."

"We have a run covered in perfect virgin powder and here you are going on about moonlight."

Smiling, Emily traced the line of Naomi's profile with her eyes. "Yes, very lovely."

"Trays are obviously a little trickier to steer than real sleds, but if we run into trouble just roll with me off to the side."

"Just roll off to the side?!"

"I'll be with you. I promise to keep you safe."

For some unknown reason, Emily believed her. Naomi knelt down, holding the tray with one hand. Eyeing Naomi and her makeshift sled with some trepidation, Emily carefully lowered herself onto the silver surface, gripping the engraved handle on the front a bit like a pommel on a saddle. To her great surprise, Naomi sat down behind her, her warm body pressing into Emily's back, quite a bit more strong and solid than Emily would have guessed by sight alone.

"Hold onto me," Naomi commanded.

Hooking her arms beneath Naomi's knees, Emily clung to her, and then Naomi was pushing them off. They gained momentum, flying down the hill as fine snow sprayed in all directions, into their hair and faces until they couldn't see, only feel the ground slipping by beneath them, exhilarated beyond Emily's expectations. They hit a bump and suddenly they were crashing, sprawling through the snow which clung to their clothes until they were barely recognizable yetis groping for one another at the bottom of the hill.

"Are you all right?" Naomi called, crawling to Emily's side.

Emily's answering laugh rang out into the darkness and caught Naomi off guard as Emily surged up out of the snow to grip Naomi by the tie. Struck by impulse, she pulled Naomi down until their foreheads touched.

"Again."

+o+o

Shortly before Christmas, the renovations were finally complete. JJ and Emily walked through all the rooms of the house evaluating the work that had been done, conversing in low tones with Keith about the fine quality of the workmanship and the general difficulty of obtaining some of the building materials. Paddy, towering and dour as always, hovered like a large premonitory shadow over all the proceedings.

"Are you bound back for Silver Ridge, then?" JJ asked conversationally as they gathered together in the foyer.

"I'll go back to Duluth but Paddy will stay here to work on other jobs for Cook," Keith explained. "Cook will be back now and again as Mister Jones—"

Keith abruptly cut his sentence short as a loud rap resounded on the walnut of the front door. Craning his head interestedly, he let out a little cough of surprise as the maid answered the summons to reveal Naomi in her threadbare navy dress on the front step. Emily hazarded a glance at her husband; he had drawn himself up very straight, clasping his hands in the small of his back, but unexpectedly, he simply guided Keith into study to continue their exchange. Naomi's eyes followed her uncle for a moment, but then her attention belonged to Emily. Paddy touched Naomi's shoulder in greeting, which seemed to startle her momentarily, but then he shrugged and followed Keith into the other room.

Naomi and Emily retreated to the library taking a rare morning off to read and converse, though for the past hour they had mostly been reading. Naomi leafed through the pages of a heavily thumbed copy of _Ethan Frome_, a choice that had made Emily laugh when she produced it. It was all quite calm, sitting there with Naomi. Emily sighed at the sound of the rustle of the paper in contrast to the harsh wind that rattled the windows in their frames. She looked up at Naomi to find the young Minnesotan's eyes focused on her over the top of the slim volume. Perhaps she should have been unnerved by the intensity of Naomi's blue gaze, but instead she recognized only the easy familiarity established between them in the previous two months.

"What is it, Minnesota?" Emily asked.

Naomi smiled a little at the use of her nickname. "That was a big sigh."

"Do you ever feel just…content? And grateful that nothing is better or worse than it is?"

Biting her lip, Naomi cocked her head slightly as she thought. "This very instant?"

"No, as a concept. In general."

"You can always wish things were better. But I guess, there are plenty of times I'm happy nothing is worse. Why do you ask?"

"I was just thinking, that sitting here, right now, isn't so bad."

"Well, if that's not damning me with faint praise…" Naomi trailed off as Emily began to laugh, warmed by the friendship in the girl's grin.

"I got a funny invitation from you the other day," Naomi went on idly.

"To the Christmas party," Emily responded. "Shall we expect you?"

"Wait, am I actually invited?"

Emily glanced up at Naomi over the lenses of her spectacles.

"No," Emily deadpanned. "I sent you that invitation to be ironic."

Naomi frowned reproachfully. "Just as well seeing as I don't have anything worth wearing to it."

"I'd buy you a dress if I thought you'd use it responsibly."

"Ah, yes. All the nefarious purposes of Christmas party dresses."

Emily quirked an eyebrow. "Maybe you should come in trousers then."

Naomi shrugged, but she started to smile.

"So I'll put you down. Will you have a guest?"

"What! I thought we just agreed I wasn't going. No dress, remember?"

"And I said I'd take care of that. I just need your measurements."

Naomi smirked mischievously. "And you said you didn't think I'd use it responsibly."

"I never said that. I said I'd buy a dress if I thought you'd use it responsibly." Emily turned another leaf of paper. "As a matter of fact, I think you'll do quite nicely."

"Well, I guess then—" Naomi stopped, suddenly brushing a few strands of fair hair from her face. "Uh, about the guest, I mean."

"So there is a young man then?" Emily said airily, although a strange sinking feeling started to brew somewhere beneath her navel.

"No, no! God forbid." She shuddered. "It just reminded me that I won't be able to come next week. My cousin—well, he's not actually my cousin, but we're like cousins because—it doesn't matter. He's visiting from up north. I wouldn't care but he's…kind of paying for my school."

"You have a benevolent benefactor?" This news relieved Emily somewhat as she pictured a balding middle-aged man having awkward tea with the clever blonde.

Naomi nodded, sneering in distaste. "I wouldn't say Conrad's benevolent. Like I could possibly forget how dirt poor we are. Little rich girls get to go home to their daddies, but I'll be stuck waiting for Christmas Eve for Cook to bring me back to Duluth."

For some reason, these words cut at Emily. She certainly fell into Naomi's "rich girl" category, but the bitterness in the girl's voice emphasized the true distance between them, a distance she had perhaps stupidly thought had been closing these past weeks. Rather than voice her concern, Emily merely pressed the subject of Conrad.

"Why _is _this Conrad paying for your school?" said Emily.

Naomi shrugged. "It's a hellishly long story, but Conrad's dad owed my dad a favor. It worked out that me going to college became the recompense, so to speak. I can't really get out of seeing him, since I didn't see him the last time he was here."

"Why not?"

Naomi smiled ruefully tapping the scar through her eyebrow with two fingers. "It took some fast talking to get out of it, but I really didn't want to explain why my face was all cut and bruised."

"No, I expect not. If you don't think me too forward, why don't you want to see him? Is he horrible?"

Scowling, Naomi grunted. "No, of course not, but I _hate_ feeling like I'm groveling for his money. Like going to dinner with your overbearing aunt, and she's asking all these invasive questions, but you can't escape from her because she's letting you live with her for the summer so you can go to preparatory school. And you can tell she's only asking because she's concerned, and also because she's an awful busybody, but maybe she has your best interests at heart—"

"Nai," interrupted Emily gently as she leaned over to touch Naomi's shoulder, "you're babbling."

"Right. Sorry."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Kidnap me!" Naomi blurted out hopefully.

Emily smiled ruefully. "Somehow I think that would cause more problems than it would solve."

"I could tell him I can't get out of working?"

"And make me out to be some kind of British slave driver who plies you with biscuits and tedious paperwork against your will?"

"You _do_ ply me with biscuits and paperwork."

"Semantics."

+o+o

Later that evening, however, after Naomi had departed, though the pleasant afternoon felt like a dream. Emily and JJ had retired to his study to sit before the fire and enjoy a post-prandial brandy when a loud knock sounded on the front door. JJ's head came round curiously, his eyes watching the entryway visible beyond the French doors of the study. A stiff breeze entered the hall as Winslow answered the door, and the first thing that stuck Emily was the pervading reek of cheap cologne. She knew it; it filled her with loathing, with fear.

"No," Emily hissed as realization dawned on her.

There, she could hear it now. The drunk rise and fall of his voice, the voice of a man she despised: Anthony Stonem. Her teeth ground, but even as she fought to compose herself, JJ was on his feet, striding toward the visitor. Winslow started to announce the man's arrival, but JJ forestalled him with a raised hand. Hovering nearby, Winslow knew well enough to stay near to his master and he lingered with muscles flexed at the foot of the stairs. The visitor remained out of sight but the umbrella stand, but Emily did not need to see his sunken blue eyes to know who had just entered her house.

"Stonem," said JJ coldly, drawing himself up to his full height.

"That's no way to great an old friend," Tony replied, his tone laced with a smug malice. "Not going to invite me in, JJ? Have me sit a spell before the fire?"

"What do you want, Stonem?"

"To see your shining face, Jay, of course."

"I send your money. That's the arrangement."

"When I heard you had come to…_visit_, I had to see it for myself."

Emily took a deep breath, steadying herself for the moment she knew was coming, when Stonem stepped into the light, approaching Winslow. Before he had always been a handsome man, both tall and powerful, but now he was wasted by drink. His frame was like a scarecrow's beneath his shabby greatcoat as he leaned toward Winslow to jab him in the chest with a forefinger.

"Still playing lap dog, Frankie?" he sneered to Winslow.

"Enough!" JJ commanded, pushing Tony by the shoulder.

As he stumbled back slightly, Emily finally caught a glimpse of his face. The years had advanced much on him; his dark hair was beginning to gray and fell oily and lank about his ears. His blue eyes were watery and weak now, set in a head battered with too many years of hard drinking. Somewhere, her heart still broke for him. It broke to see him as he was, and it broke to gaze into those blue eyes, that were so like Effy's. To Emily's surprise, JJ relaxed somewhat, studying Tony with an expression Emily could not identify. Maybe in that second, JJ could see the man Tony had once been, too.

"Winslow," said JJ suddenly, "please prepare a room for our guest. He is here by my invitation."

Tony smiled, his gloating almost physically palpable as Winslow bowed curtly to JJ and ascended the stair. Then, his eyes fell on her.

"There she is!" he said, his tone lazy and spiteful. "Don't you want to say hello to old Tony?"

Emily froze, berating herself for the stupidity of being seen. Her skin began to crawl.

"Stonem, come into my study, if you please," JJ's strong tenor interrupted Tony's sticky laugh. "Katherine, I have business with Stonem here that does not require your presence."

"Still living by the letter of that fucking farce," Tony growled. "Does it let you forget who you are little Fitch?"

She braved a glance at JJ, as he went to the sideboard, pouring two large bracers of whisky. His skin was quite pale, but she observed no angry red flush creeping up from the color of his shirt. Holding her eyes for a moment, he gave an almost imperceptible nod. In the periphery of her vision though, Emily could see Tony as he took JJ's own armchair, admiring the wood and upholstery. Emily rose to leave without further preamble as JJ pressed the whisky into Tony's long fingered hand.

"Look at you," Tony said to Emily's back. "Running and hiding, but she doesn't find you anymore."

"To what do we owe the pleasure, Tony?" Emily growled frigidly, spinning on her heel. "Have you come to remind him of your ever present threat?"

Tony consumed the rest of his whisky and threw his head back, laughing again. He should have looked like a merry uncle with his cheeks flushing from the whisky, but his expression held a kind of cruel insouciance beneath his mirth, his brutality intensified by his apathy.

"No, she doesn't find any of us anymore," Tony went on as though he had not been challenged. "You think you understand me, little Fitch, but remember I have your number."

JJ swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his lean throat. Crossing the room, JJ lifted his hands to the French doors, his proximity backing Emily into the hallway as he shut them nearly in her face. Her blood boiled, though she was fully aware, more with fear than true anger. So the filthy blackmailer had returned, unsatisfied taking their penance in the form of currency compensation, now he must also exact his price in agony. He played a dangerous game maintaining their dance. If either party faltered in the motions, the whole arrangement crumbled. Emily climbed the stairs, and instead of going into her library she retreated to her bedroom, pacing to and fro by the foot of the bed. What had he come for exactly? Maybe for more money, but he usually stayed in Europe, Paris or another city where booze and women were easy to obtain. No, he must have come for something else, but what? And why now? It had been three years since his last unfortunate visit, and he only left them then when JJ provided him with a furnished apartment and a very fine whore. She collapsed on the bed, sinking into the duvet. How long she laid there, staring at the ceiling she was unaware, before she fell into a troubled sleep.

+o+o

Emily woke with a start, her cheek uncomfortably adhered to an accent pillow with knobby embroidery on it. She pulled it from where it stuck to her skin with a grimace, and sat up, roughly taking in the fact she was still completely dressed. Feeling her own face with her fingertips, she first tested her eyes, but when they were only a normal level of puffiness from sleep and not sobbing, she moved on. Breath? No traces of alcohol. She pushed back one sleeve to check for bruises but found none in spite of the fact her flesh burned. She'd had a wretched nightmare, hadn't she? Blinking into the morning sun pouring through the curtains, she gazed out onto the fresh snow fallen in the night. The shrill scream one of the maids echoed through the house, making her jump so violently, she slammed her forehead against the inner glass of the window. Tony's lascivious laugh followed on its heels like a lurcher after a hare, and as Emily cradled her injured head on the sill, she swore in a near silent torrent. It hadn't been a nightmare; he was really in Saint Paul. A brisk knock outside her bedroom door, brought Emily upright again and she neared the portal with the air of one about to assault an intruder.

"Who is it?" she demanded harshly.

"JJ," a voice replied promptly.

Jerking the door open, Emily quickly stuck her shoulders into the passage as she searched for anyone else before grabbing JJ by the front of the coat and dragging him unceremoniously down the hall to a guest room, shutting the door with unnecessary vigor behind them.

"JJ," Emily whispered. "Why is Anthony Stonem here in America?"

"That, my dear, is the fifty pound question," said JJ grimly.

"What does he want?"

"Aside from terrorizing the staff?"

"He can't stay here."

"No, I will make arrangements for him to go elsewhere, but I'm afraid we can't be completely rid of him until we ascertain why he has come seeking us out. This was not a trivial journey."

Emily hastily smoothed the front of her rumpled skirt, furtively wiping her sweaty palms against the fabric.

"JJ," she said, "whatever we do, it must be done with caution."

JJ nodded gravely. "He could ruin me. Ruin us both. I have not forgotten."

She smiled bitterly as he left.


	8. Chapter 8: Ghosts

**Chapter 8: Ghosts**

Cook squinted up at the outside the house where Naomi lived, lifting his hat to shade his eyes against the glare of the sun off the windows. It was a squat house with a stone foundation and clapboard siding not far from Saint Catherine's. He checked his watch for the millionth time, smoothing his thumb over the scratched face before stuffing it back into his pocket. He stomped a bit to try restoring some of the blood flow to his feet. They were apparently frozen in his boots given the lack of feeling in his toes. He'd waited quite long enough he supposed. Meandering up the walk to the front door, he rapped briskly with the knocker and took a pace back to await an answer. After a few moments a tiny plump woman wearing thick spectacles peered owlishly up at him. She might have been beautiful in her youth, but now she seemed…odd, if not thoroughly addled. At least she had all her clothes on that day and her graying black hair was done up on a tousled bun on the top of her head

"What you want?" she asked in an interesting Cuban accent.

"Good morning, Miss Reyes," Cook said, trying not to laugh. "It's Cook, Naomi's brother. Is she at home right now?"

"Oh, you come to see Naomi, yes?"

"That's right, is she home?"

"Yes, Naomi live here."

Cook sighed, by now accustomed to trying to converse with the woman. "No, is she here? Right now."

"Live here three years."

He tried a different tack. "Aqui? Ahora?"

Brightening considerably, she launched into a long tirade completely in Spanish in which he caught Naomi's name twice and a couple of other words he thought he understood from a long perusal of a Spanish-English dictionary after a similar visit. Cook bit the inside of his cheek. Attempting to communicate with Miss Reyes in her mother tongue had been a terrible mistake. Nearby there was a flash of sunlight on fair hair and he sighted Naomi coming into the mudroom with her eyebrows raised incredulously. _What did you do_? her expression clearly said. Naomi carefully touched the older woman on the shoulder and after a soft-spoken exchange with her, Naomi led her into the sitting room. She motioned for Cook to wait, and about a minute later she emerged, just a skinny girl in a too large coat.

"Naomikins!" Cook said. "I see that scar hasn't blemished your beauty."

She rolled her eyes but hugged him happily, breathing his familiar smell. "Cook! What are you doing here?"

"Can't visit my little sister if I want?"

For a moment she merely blinked, breath clouding curiously in the cold air. "Well, I wasn't suspicious until you said that."

"Are you okay leaving Miss Reyes?"

"She's eccentric, not dangerous." Naomi waved her hand in a noncommittal fashion.

"How is Misses Jones?"

Naomi smiled. "Well."

Cook continued to gaze at her, raising his eyebrow just a hair's breadth.

"I haven't asked her anything, Cook. I promise."

This news evidently surprised the man, because his eyes widened and his mouth turned down in inquiry. "Why not?"

"I don't know. At first I wanted to, that's why I kept visiting, but now that I know her better, every time I try I just can't seem to get the words out."

"You know I miss him, too."

"It never gets easier not knowing what happened."

"No, it doesn't."

"I'm sorry, let's not talk about this right now."

Cook nodded, deciding to get back to the original intent of his visit. "I heard from a little bird that you're having a lunch alone with Conrad today."

Naomi grimaced as she pulled away from Cook, stepping off the porch to shuffle along the icy path down to the street. He followed closely, pressing her further when she did not respond.

"Naomi…"

She turned around and scowled at her shoes. "Paddy should keep his damn mouth shut."

"Has he been putting pressure on you again?"

"Literally or figuratively?" she asked sarcastically.

"Has he been writing to you?"

Shrugging, Naomi glanced away, suddenly find the dirty snow very interesting.

"I'm going to come with you."

A flicker of hope passed through her eyes, but she immediately frowned again. "You don't have to come, I'll be fine."

"Naomi, he can't make you do anything you don't want. And he can't take college away from you."

"I'm not worried about that."

He stared at her, confused. "Have your feelings for him changed?"

"I don't know. Is it important?"

"Naomi, if you don't love him don't marry him. Why are—"

Naomi lifted her fingers to silence him, accidentally brushing some of the frost from his scrubby beard. She leaned to the side, obviously looking at someone behind him. Cook pivoted, plastering a forced grin to his face as he held out his hand to the man that approached them.

"Conrad!" Cook enthused, pumping his arm in a firm handshake. "Funny running into you here."

"Always good to see you, Cook," Conrad said, barely sparing him a second glance, already trying to look over Cook's shoulder at Naomi.

"Hi, Conrad," Naomi put in, though she had retreated several paces.

"Naomi, you look more beautiful every time I see you," said Conrad.

Naomi bit her lip, torn between laughing and snorting derisively. Conrad was a handsome man, just as Naomi had told Emily, tall, with smoothly parted brown hair. He smiled charmingly around Cook, who staunchly kept himself a buffer between the two.

"I was just telling Naomi how hungry I am," Cook said abruptly. "You two don't mind if I tag along to lunch, do you?"

Conrad started to say something when Naomi piped up, "No! Please, come along."

If looks could kill, Cook knew he'd have died on the spot under the withering glare Conrad leveled at him. Cook grinned, unapologetic as he held out the crook of his arm to Naomi.

+o+o

At the same time in the big house on Summit, Emily and JJ endured a private hell. JJ made separate arrangements for Tony to be housed in an apartment building not far away, where he was supplied with ample alcohol and entertainments. But not a day went by when he did not appear at the house, harassing the maids, drinking everything, and generally attempting to make life miserable for JJ. Thankfully, he hardly spoke to Emily, but she would often find his eyes following her, the calculation in his gaze alarming at best and murderous at worst.

Emily would occasionally find some respite by calling on Victoria Payne. Her sitting room had been overtaken by books of swatches of fabric in an astonishing array of various different colors and textures. Victoria for her part was smoking a cigarette as she perused the samples with a disinterested look. The sun shone down weakly through the cloud cover as Emily rifled through the books.

"Why did you have so many of these just lying around?" Emily asked.

"You never know when you'll need a party dress made at a moment's notice," Victoria replied.

Emily looked over at her, wondering how many emergency dresses she'd needed to have made up over the years and suspected the number was rather few. Casting aside one of the samples with a scoff, Victoria took up a new catalogue, carelessly brushing the ash from her cigarette onto the rug.

"I think a blue will suit you," Victoria said, holding up a scrap of cloth to Emily's face to compare the contrast.

"Oh," Emily said hesitantly, "the dress isn't for me."

"Well, then who in the name of Saint Peter is it for?"

"You remember Naomi Campbell, don't you?"

Victoria scrunched her nose. For being the biggest gossip in Saint Paul, she had an astonishing memory for people sometimes, but Emily supposed that had more to do with the fact that Naomi had very little in the way of money. She could thus provide only limited entertainments. In any event, Emily had bartered a bottle of gin for this service and expected to get her liquor's worth.

"My secretary?" Emily pressed.

"Sorry, dear, I'm drawing a blank."

Emily closed her eyes. "Well, she's tall and slender."

"Do you have her measurements?"

Cringing, Emily shook her head. "I was…sort of hoping we could guess."

"Guess! My tailor is good but he's not a miracle worker. Bring her by and I'll have Theodore size her."

"It need not be custom. We could make do with something ready made."

"For the love of—let's do it right or not at all as my mother used to say. We'll choose a fabric after we find a style to suit her figure."

Emily relented with a sigh. "Yes, I suppose. It won't be cutting it too fine?"

"Hardly. Theodore does as I say."

Emily didn't doubt it. She crossed snowy Summit Avenue returning to her own house, lost in a daydream about how beautiful Naomi would look in the dress, but almost before she reached the porch she felt something was horribly wrong. Maggie met her at the door, her eyes wide as she took Emily's coat with shaking hands.

"What is it, Maggie?" Emily asked, looking the little maid in the eye.

"Mister Stonem is here, ma'am," Maggie whispered. "Mister Jones and Mister Winslow are away and the best I could do was to get him to stay in the study."

Emily nodded, giving her a sympathetic smile. "You did quite right, Maggie."

"Oh, don't go in there, ma'am, that man is the devil."

The corner of Emily's mouth worked up in a wry smile, because she did not need Maggie to tell her what a devil Tony Stonem was. She could hear his snoring without even entering the room. Although it was midday the study was dark, the heavy curtains were drawn over the windows for Tony was either drunk or hungover, possibly halfway between the two. He slept on the sofa, much too tall for it with his legs hanging off to one side. Two empty bottles lay on the floor, and she could see the gilt on the labels; very fine single malt whisky gone to feed Tony's alcohol demons. Asleep, she could remember him. Asleep, she could forget. Emily crossed the floor, her footsteps muffled by the deep rug as she switched on one of the electric lights. Tony woke with a startled grunt, kicking one of the bottles so that it rolled across the room and shattered on the corner of a bookshelf.

"What the fuck is it now?" he roared, apparently completely unaware of where he lay.

"Wake up you pathetic sot," Emily replied, frightened but refusing to be cowed.

"Little Fitch." Tony sat up, rubbing his hands over his beard stubble. "JJ not here then?"

"No, and that is why you need to leave."

He smiled, his old smile that used to charm and manipulate. "I haven't seen you in a long time, Emily."

Emily's breath caught, because when was the last time someone said her name out loud? Her real name, said it for her to hear.

"Does he still try to call you Katie?"

"No. Not anymore."

"You should have left him long ago."

Emily swallowed. "He keeps me safe."

His face softened, eyes calm and blue for a beat. "Do you remember Fowler's Christmas party?"

Swallowing, Emily nodded. She did. At fifteen, she'd been incredibly shy and when her parents forced her to attend social gatherings it was not often she could not be found hiding in a spare room or the library if she could manage it. Emily remembered Fowler's party. She'd been sitting in an alcove behind a wall of books, the air heavy with damp paper and leather bindings. Effy found her there, as she always did. She'd been wearing a long dress, her smirk belied by the gentleness in her eyes when she took Emily's hand and led her back. When they emerged on the main hall, Tony spotted them skulking an extra moment beneath the drooping garland. He was dancing with Katie, his smile sparkling as bright as the chandelier. Then they spun away into the crowd and no one bore witness to the surreptitious kiss Effy pressed below Emily's ear.

"She always went to find you," Tony said slowly. "When did you stop going to find her?"

Emily's eyes filled with tears, her chest burning with suppressing the urge to cry.

"You know why I can't stop."

"I didn't—it wasn't."

"Yes, you did!" he shouted, surging to his feet from the sofa, hand raised as though he meant to slap her.

Furious and shaking, Emily scrabbled on the surface of the desk, coming up with JJ's ivory letter opener, thrusting it out. Her throat tightened as the first tears began to fall and if he moved she was going to stab him. Stab him and have done with it.

"Are you going to kill me too, then?" he said softly, gaze focused on her eyes rather than the razor edge of the knife. He grabbed her wrist, pressing the tip of the blade to the cloth of his waistcoat just beneath his breastbone. "Go on. Get your hands dirty."

He felt it, she knew he did, like an echo all in reverse, moving past them backward like ghosts. Emily's hand on Effy's wrist, Effy's hand on hers. Then later, the scuffle with the pistol on the steps of his family crypt, soaked stone in the rain. She'd begged him to shoot her, shoved the butt into his cold fist and he'd jerked her head back by the hair, muzzle bruising the soft flesh beneath the angle of her jaw. His clenched teeth flashed white though there was no sun to reflect off them. She'd laughed, hysterically, until he'd laughed as well. But when he flung the gun into the river he promised her she'd wish she'd died every day. He hadn't lied.

With a little flick, he dislodged the letter opener from her slack grip, and it bounced off the floorboards with a clatter. She sobbed as he sneered. Then he did strike her, hard across the face, enough to leave the imprint of his hand in a swelling red welt. That was why he'd come, wasn't it? She'd been forgetting, and with the memory fresh on her skin, she still wished she was dead. Wished it all anew. Stumbling back, his lips trembled as he looked down at her.

"I'm sorry," Emily whispered.

"I know you are," Tony said, sounding so much like Effy she thought she might break. "I'm sorry, too."

He reached out and for a while she clung to his cuff, silent and still, until he pulled her close and held her. Beneath the spirits and sweat, he still smelled the same, like a Stonem. Their hate and grief bound them together. Bound them backward, like ghosts.

+o+o

It took Emily ages to recover after Tony left her, for once going before JJ returned. When he went he touched the place he'd hit her with regretful tenderness. The juxtaposition of his gentleness in the wake of the violence made her nauseous and she wanted to vomit where she stood. Instead, she did something she hadn't done in a long time. She drank. Sitting alone on the floor in her bedroom, she wedged herself between the wall and the radiator. She communed with bottle until she actually wondered if Effy would come to find her, to take her. It seemed right, somehow, that Effy would be the one to hew her down with a scythe like the reaper. She woke in that corner hours later, still drunk. A clammy perspiration mingled with her tears on her cheeks, dripping from her jaw to mark her collarbone. She gasped, initially with no concept of her location or the time. Burying her face in her hands, Emily tried desperately to steady her breathing, the crush of the dream already fading until it haunted her in the shadows of her subconscious. Though the details eluded her, she felt only shame and terror. Nightmares had once been commonplace in her life, but it had been months since the last. The trigger was easy to discern, yet it did not explain why she sat awake in the small hours of the morning, thinking of a paler, softer blue.

+o+o

By the time Naomi turned up for work on the seventh day, Emily was still in a state of misery though it had come to be colored with anger once more, shaken by Tony's continued presence in her household. She hid her turmoil from JJ, had become adept at it through practice rather than innate talent. Naomi waited on the landing with Maggie for a moment as Emily barely acknowledged her presence. Turning her head, she considered the petite brunette's attitude as Emily retired to her armchair to read wires. In her distraction, she completely forgot the usual plate of biscuits she had become accustomed to presenting Naomi on her arrival.

The Minnesotan's sweet tooth was becoming legendary among the servants who were running wagers on how high her sugar intake would spiral by the time Christmas break commenced. Naomi, however, did not complain. Only a brief lingering glance at the bare coffee table gave any indication she was rather attached to the biscuits and missed their appearance. Instead, her shrewd blue eyes watched Emily and she did not immediately set to her task. She approached the sofa and, leaning across the back, rested her chin on her crossed forearms.

"Tell me what's wrong," Naomi said, not really a directive, but not a request either.

"Whatever makes you think there is something wrong?" replied Emily coolly.

"All of…this." Naomi gestured vaguely at Emily.

"I hardly think this the time to discuss when there is work to be done."

"Katherine."

"Naomi."

Naomi sighed. "Just guessing, but I'm going to say it has something to do with the, uh, gentleman downstairs that made some choice comments about how young and nubile I am."

"The word nubile implies youth. It's redundant to say both."

Naomi raised her eyebrows and said, not without considerable affection, "You're such an insufferable know it all."

"What is the point of having a vocabulary if you don't use it?"

"Oh well, I'll just take his licentious insinuations as a testament to his loquacious temperament."

Emily finally threw down the wires. She looked up at Naomi and asked in a small voice, "What did he say to you?"

Naomi gave her a smile. "Nothing I haven't heard before." She frowned a little before going on, "Did he…say something to you to make you this upset?"

Emily smirked wryly as she echoed Naomi's words. "Nothing I haven't heard before."

"There's my smile," Naomi murmured, before smiling again herself.

It was strange how in nearly a week, JJ had failed to notice or soothe her over her confrontation with Tony, but Naomi had felt it within seconds of being in the same room. Emily glanced up as Naomi dropped onto the sofa.

Leaning her elbows on her knees, she said, "So where are my biscuits?"

Emily let out a noise of mock outrage. "I think I could pay you in biscuits and it would suit you just as well as money."

"Mice don't eat your cash when you leave it out, though."

Briefly, Emily had a vivid mental image of Naomi fending off hordes of mice from the currant biscuits with a sword or some other wicked implement. But that only made her think of the letter opener, and her hand clenched convulsively on her knee. She shook her head slightly, trying to contrive something happier and not focused on herself to discuss.

"How was your visit with Conrad?" Emily asked.

"About as painful as could be expected."

"You only have a few more months and then you can be rid of him, if I'm not mistaken."

Naomi shrugged. "Frankly, I don't think I'll ever be rid of him."

"Because he's a family friend, you mean?"

"I guess."

"How is Conrad employed?"

"He's a farmer."

Emily let her surprise show. "How does a farmer have enough money to pay your way through Saint Kate's?"

"Maybe I should say he dabbles in a lot of things. Agriculture has been a rough business since the war. A lot of people owe him money up north." Naomi cocked her head. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Emily nodded, giving her a weak smile. "Would you mind very much if we went to Victoria's to have you measured rather than working today?"

Naomi frowned. "Measured for what?"

"Your dress."

"I thought you were joking about that."

Emily laughed for the first time in days. "Like sending you invitations to parties you aren't invited to?"

Naomi rolled her eyes.

"I could always have you a suit made instead."

Naomi raised her eyebrows, but before she could say anything Emily interrupted her.

"But then your trousered state is something of a disguise. Far be it for me to expose you."

Biting her lip, Naomi just managed not to look terribly guilty. "Something like that."

"Come on then, to Victoria's?"

"Couldn't you just take the measurements? I'm not particularly excited about stripping down in front of Victoria Payne if it's all the same to you."

Emily studied Naomi for a moment, because that was easily the most dangerous proposition anyone had made to her in ages. She intentionally did not associate with women she had untoward leanings for, and thus far she had delighted in having what felt like the beginnings of a strong friendship without physical entanglements. The doctors had never really cured her of the thrust of her predilections, never halted that longing that came sometimes on the edges of a dream or in remembering past misdeeds. Suddenly, Naomi was a threat though nothing had truly changed and she mightn't have been had it not been for Tony. Tony was the eagle that came daily to tear at her liver while she lay tethered by compunction to her rock.

"Theodore will take your measurements away from Victoria, surely," Emily said somewhat shakily.

"Do I have to?" Naomi whined.

Emily nodded. "It won't take long."

She had to be more careful with Naomi. She couldn't let it unravel everything again.


	9. Chapter 9: Aquavit

**A/N: I know, another chapter in less than 24 hours. I'm sooner or later going to run up against portions of SCW that were lost, and then there really will be delays, so enjoy the frequent updates while they can still happen. Also, I apologise for the typos I continue to find in posted chapters. I proofread, my beta proofreads, and yet they still crop up. Rest assured I'll eventually find and fix as many of them as I can.  
**

* * *

**Chapter 9: Aquavit**

Naomi's classes drew to a close two days before Christmas Eve. Most of the girls came from families affluent enough to afford the private education, who would not be put out by the journey home, but Naomi had several hundred miles to travel to return to Silver Ridge. She might have gone to Duluth by the afternoon train, but instead she opted to remain in Saint Paul an extra night and leave for Duluth early the next morning, her sole reason to be present for Emily's Christmas party. Emily finished tying the bow on the tall narrow box on her writing table. A gift for Naomi, one she hoped the girl would like.

Winslow brought the girl from her lodging with Miss Reyes following the conclusion of her last final, all of her belongings for her winter holiday packed into a very small trunk. Watching from her library window, Emily smiled reluctantly down on the fair-haired figure as she came up with the front steps with Winslow, whom seemed to have developed a sort of fondness for her in the past month. It was all danger and politics again, but Naomi was untouched by it, an island in the storm. As Emily glanced over her shoulder, she could see Naomi skulking on the landing, crouched slightly with her eyes darting.

"Planning an ambush, Naomi?" Emily teased.

"More like trying to avoid one," Naomi replied with a wry little scowl.

"Stonem's not here, though I'm afraid he may be later."

"Well, that's a relief."

Naomi straightened up, sweeping a lock of hair behind her ear. Emily dragged her gaze over the girl, fairly drinking her in. For some reason she was unspeakably relieved to see the young Minnesotan and the soft blue of her eyes.

"How were your exams?" Emily asked.

"Survived another semester, I think." Naomi nodded, a mischievous curiosity lifting her eyebrows as she saw the box on the desk. "Ooh, who is that for?"

"Not you, that's for certain."

"It is for me!" Naomi tried to dodge around her to pick up the gift, but was thwarted by Emily who blocked her way.

"Dress first!" Emily insisted.

Naomi made a dissenting noise, quickly quelled by Emily's smile. Emily motioned toward the landing, while Naomi gave a last conflicted look to the box in shiny paper. Naomi followed her into the guest room where laid out on the bed was a sleeveless evening dress, constructed from a shimmery royal blue material. Glancing back to gauge Naomi's reaction, Emily saw a kind of dazed surprise, superseded quickly by a deep frown.

"It is the latest style," Emily said decisively.

Naomi did not respond, but did begin to worry her lower lip with her teeth.

"The blue will compliment your eyes."

"I can't take this," Naomi protested seriously.

"Consider it a loan."

"But—"

"Just wear it tonight, and then you'll never have to see it again."

Sensing she was fighting a losing battle, Naomi shrugged then nodded curtly.

+o+o

Emily sent Maggie to help Naomi with her preparations for the party while Emily herself saw to the band and caterers with JJ. She skittered in his shadow, still unable to look him in the eye with Tony clouding the horizon. So she bottled the emotion, and went through the motions of being the lady of the house. For some reason hosting instilled her with a sense of authority, and where she might normally shrink she shone. It was at these moments that one might see the shrewd, commanding gin baroness rather than coy Emily Fitch masquerading in the overlarge raiment of others' contrivances. Emily attended to her own attire and hair with the second maid just before the first guests began to arrive. She swept down into a room full of acquaintances looking every bit like the wealthy young wife she was expected to be. The house had been finely decorated, with two Christmas trees, one in JJ's study and another smaller specimen in her own library. The kitchen buzzed with activity as caterers and decorators bustled about preparing the Jones residence for the evening's festivities.

After several minutes of greeting new visitors, Emily instinctively turned her attention to the stairs, where Naomi hesitated awkwardly about halfway down. Her fair hair was twisted up at the nape of her neck, being too long for the fashion to leave loose. The dress fit her well, the scoop neck revealing a gleaming pale swath of chest, the skirt swishing boldly around her knees. And Emily had been right; the color set off the swirling ice blue of her eyes such that they twinkled in the light from the chandelier. Emily might be an unconventional woman in many ways, but let it not be said that she did not keep up with the trends. Naomi caught sight of Emily looking up at her, and a shy grin twisted her mouth as she blushed, evidently not accustomed to having so much skin on display. Most of her dresses had long sleeves after all. The tips of her ears went pink as she descended to Emily's side.

"It's a little, uh…" Naomi murmured self-consciously. "You know…airy."

"The dress suits you," Emily declared clinically.

"Thanks?" Naomi bit her lip before whispering with a furious blush, "You're gorgeous."

"Naomi, I do believe you are flattering me."

"It's not flattery if it's the truth."

Emily smirked, clicking her fingers at a passing waiter who proffered a tray of champagne.

"Liquid courage," she confided to Naomi, as she took one. "Now go mingle. Shouldn't Cook be here soon?"

"What's he going to say about this dress?"

"Likely nothing since he'll be fending young men away from you all night."

"Katherine!"

Emily and Naomi looked up simultaneously as Victoria and Betsy entered the hallway.

"Katherine, I'm so pleased to see you," Victoria trilled as she kissed Emily's cheek. "Oh, and the owner of the blue dress. My, my. Theodore has outdone himself this time, hasn't he?"

Victoria studied Naomi with a critical eye, obviously not remembering Naomi's name though she recalled the dress and began making envious comments about Naomi's tall boyish frame to Emily in an undertone.

"Miss Campbell, is that you?" Betsy exclaimed.

"Misses Harrigan," Naomi said in polite greeting.

"Miss Campbell, it is you! My, you clean up nicely, don't you?"

Naomi merely ducked her head as she brought the champagne flute to her lips. Emily and Victoria chatted idly as they also sipped champagne, and shortly Emily was whisked away again to play hostess. Naomi for her part gravitated toward a corner, in no small part to avoid being the object of too much attention. She stood there alone for the better part of an hour, only briefly interacting with other guests who introduced themselves as she listened listlessly to disjointed Christmas carols. That was until Cook arrived.

"Holy hell," her intoned from her side. "Naomikins sometimes I wish you weren't my sister."

"That's still disgusting, Cook," Naomi said laughing, grinning into Cook's shocked face.

"Where did you get the dress?"

"Katherine gave it to me."

"Been sizing you up?"

"No, I got measured for it unfortunately."

"You look great."

"You say that to all your sisters."

Cook rolled his eyes, the joke being implicit as she was his only sister.

"Mister Jones," Cook said suddenly. "Very nice party you have here."

"Cook! Please, let me avail you of some refreshments," JJ replied.

Nodding, Cook followed JJ after giving Naomi's hand a quick squeeze. They met Emily in the hallway, engaged in conversation with Victoria and her husband.

"You're looking stunning tonight, Misses Jones," Cook told her with a roguish wink.

"You're as much of a shameless flatterer as your sister. She said the same thing to me."

"Oh, let the man compliment you, Katherine," Victoria interrupted, making Emily laugh again.

JJ began talking to Payne and Cook tapped Emily's shoulder, wanting to draw her away. Excusing herself, Emily stepped away to exchange a few words with the man.

"Katherine," Cook said quietly. "I just wanted to say thank you."

"Whatever for?" Emily asked.

"For giving Naomi a job. She was going crazy trying to find work that fit with her school schedule."

"I needed help with my business affairs. If anyone need offer thanks, it should be me. She has been an invaluable help to me."

"And for being her friend. She's always had trouble making friends with other women."

Emily frowned in confusion. "She's perfectly charming. Why does she have trouble making friends?"

Cook shrugged, evidently nonplussed. "I think she hates getting caught up in their backbiting, but she likes you."

"How can you tell?" Emily arched an eyebrow.

Smiling cryptically, he confessed, "She doesn't talk about you."

"And this is…a good thing?"

He laughed. "An absolute mark of Naomi's esteem. If she didn't like you she'd complain." He inclined his head slightly. "So thank you."

"The pleasure is mine I assure you."

JJ motioned tersely and Cook went with him into the study. Struck by what Cook had divulged to her, she found herself wanting to seek out Naomi, and then without really meaning to, her feet took her to where Naomi lingered against one wall at the foot of the stairs, trapped in a thoroughly one-sided discussion with Daphne's son, recently returned from Harvard. He leaned over her, speaking in a low voice, but her replies could only be described as monosyllabic. Emily watched her unseen for a moment, feeling irrationally protective as she monitored for any signs of distress. Instead, the Minnesotan seemed only annoyed, her arms crossed over her chest as she pressed into the paneling trying to distance herself from him. She looked up at him, but her hands were curled into fists. Emily chuckled. He'd certainly get a surprise if he tried to touch her, namely a splendid right cross. Deciding as amusing as it would be to watch the boy get his just deserts, she rather wanted to avoid a scene during the middle of her Christmas party.

"Naomi, there you are!" Emily cried, pulling her closer by the skirt of her dress.

Startled, Naomi lost her footing gripping Emily around the waist to catch her balance, her gasp fluttering over Emily's neck, leaving a trail of hot shivering goosebumps in its wake. For an impossibly long instant, they touched, not moving, not daring to look at one another, but then Emily stepped aside with a shaky breath, addressing the boy.

"I am absolutely parched," she informed him. "Would you be a good lad and fetch us some champagne?"

He twitched irritably, but nodded, stalking off to bring them the requested beverages. Emily's eyes trailed his departure, her expression working into a deep glare of disapproval.

"Well, he's a pain in the arse isn't he?" Emily growled rhetorically as she turned back to Naomi, and the girl cringed as though caught staring, immediately casting her gaze to the floor.

"Thanks," Naomi managed sounding strangely discomfited.

"I'll distract him when he comes back, and then how about you find a new place to stand?"

"Sounds like a plan."

True to their arrangement, Emily deliberately passed Naomi more champagne while feigning an incredible interest in Harvard and the goings on with the young man's fraternity. After about half an hour of that, he consumed so many more glasses of champagne he had even begun to try to flirt with _her_ and Emily dismissed him in disgust. Once again, she searched for Naomi, a little blue wallflower amongst moving couples. Emily glanced round to see Naomi watching the dancing with a slight cock to her head.

"Aside from punching that Ivy League fop, you have looked at a loose end tonight," Emily said, sidling to stand beside her.

"You're about the tenth person to tell me that," Naomi said with some asperity, before shrugging. "I'll tell you straight out, though, I'm a little bored."

"You don't have to stay."

"And leave you here with alone with only these people for company? Perish the thought."

Then Naomi broke into a broad smile. Emily smiled, too, more sincerely than she had intended. Fearing she had let too much affection for the girl tinge the amusement in her eyes, she looked away only to see Tony who had come in remarkably quietly at some point. He was sitting near the hearth with a large whisky in his hand, watching her with a strange expression on his face. His eyes came and went in flashes as the dancers moved between them. Tilting his head, he nodded slightly, leaning back into the cushions, making it clear he saw that flutter of uncertainty Emily felt for Naomi. The beginnings of something she _could not_ allow to happen. He rose, setting down his glass, and to her surprise, left altogether. Naomi touched Emily's shoulder, her eyes trained on the place where Stonem had disappeared into the hall.

"I don't like that guy," Naomi said. "Why do you let him stay?"

"He's JJ's friend," Emily replied mechanically.

"I know but—"

JJ beckoned to her from across the room, and Emily was forced to abandon Naomi in deference to coping with whatever he required. Between JJ, Victoria, and the rest of the guests Emily did not see Naomi again until the party had almost ended. As the guests began to dwindle, Emily could hear the muffled roar of raucous laughter issuing from the back of the house. Intrigued, she followed the sound to find the caterers gathered in a semi-circle around the central work surface egging on something they blocked from her view. A sudden triumphant cheer went up, and a brief gap in the aprons and jackets presented a fractured image of Naomi sitting red-faced with her hair straggling across her forehead damp with sweat, the blue dress showing a bit too much of her bare chest. Seated on a stool opposite, was a swarthy-faced caterer out of breath and rubbing his wrist.

"Beaten by a girl!" the cook thundered out.

"Beaten by a skinny girl!" one of the waiters chipped in.

Naomi grinned, brushing a drop of perspiration from her temple. Looking up at the assembled company, Naomi laid eyes on Emily and launched up and around the island, plowing her way through the waiters to gain Emily's side.

"Katherine!" Naomi exclaimed giddily. "Katherine, did you see?"

"I only caught the end I'm afraid," Emily said, reaching to carelessly tuck a lock of loose hair behind Naomi's ear.

Naomi groaned in disappointment. "I beat him three out of five!"

"What were you beating him at exactly?"

"Arm wrestling."

"I am glad to see the evening livened up for you." Smiling at the high color in the girl's cheeks, Emily added, "Or perhaps the champagne livened _you_ up."

"I only had a little bit."

"Only a little, Minnesota?"

"Okay. So I had a lot." She giggled as she guiltily admitted her fib.

Emily tried and failed to keep from smirking. "Speaking of which, I still have a Christmas gift for you."

"You don't have to do that."

"Well, I did."

"I don't have anything for you."

"I didn't expect you to. Would you care to follow me upstairs?"

Naomi nodded and like a curious puppy trailed in Emily's wake up to the library, away from the voices and carols that still filled the house downstairs. Naomi stood beside the small Christmas tree, admiring the ornaments, the shine of the tinsel against the shimmer of her dress almost blinding beneath the electric lights. Pausing next to her writing desk, Emily groped inside the knee well before drawing out the tall slender box. She held it out to Naomi, who furrowed her brow as she accepted the package. Very carefully, Naomi drew the lid off the present, and her mouth dropped open in surprise as the light glinted off the contents and bathed Naomi's features in a slight golden glow. Naomi lifted the bottle of amber liquid from the velvet lining.

"Jesus," she swore. "Real Norwegian aquavit. Where did you get this?"

"You can read that?" Emily said, eyebrows raised as she examined the Norwegian on the label.

Naomi shrugged. "Some of it."

"To answer your question though, I got it from Norway, naturally."

"How did you get it _here_?"

"I have my ways." Emily said sneakily, thoroughly enjoying the elated expression on Naomi's face.

"I can't take this. It must have cost more than I make in a month."

"I'm not exactly suffering for money." Emily motioned vaguely to the house. "You're keeping it. No arguments."

"I can't believe you remembered this."

"I wanted it to feel like Christmas for you."

"It does, even without this," Naomi confessed, shaking the bottle with a tinkling of liquor for emphasis. "Thank you."

"My very great pleasure."

"Now you have to try it!"

Naomi hurried over to the sideboard flipping over two tumblers and wrenching the cork stopper out of the aquavit. She sloshed two generous measures of the yellowish spirit into each glass. She returned with one outstretched, eagerly motioning for Emily to take it, the recorked bottled under her arm.

"Obviously the wrong glasses," Naomi said apologetically, "but just shoot it all at once. Ready?" Naomi clinked the side of her tumbler against Emily's. "Skal!"

Naomi threw her head back, downing her entire glass in a heroic gulp. Not realizing she was making an error in both manners and judgment, Emily sipped weakly at the aquavit, quickly being reduced to eye-watering coughs. Emily spluttered for a few moments, Naomi patting her on the arm half in sympathy and half in exasperation.

"It's a hundred proof," Naomi offered as though that clarified the matter. "My mom sips her aquavit. _You_ either have to swallow it all at once or not at all."

Trying again, Emily managed to take the liquor as a shot, grimacing at the burn of the alcohol and bite of the unfamiliar taste.

"A caraway flavored kick in the chest is possibly the best description you could have given me," Emily squeaked, squinting painfully into the bottom of her empty glass.

"Liquid magic," Naomi said laughing. "Ooh! Here, another!"

Slamming her glass down on the corner of the desk she poured two more, spilling rather more on Emily than she successfully managed to splash into the tumbler. Naomi drained her glass in two long swallows. Emily sniffed uncertainly at the spirit in her own, considering with some alarm that Naomi had already consumed a good amount of champagne before the aquavit. Coupling this with the fact that Emily actually drank regularly unlike Naomi forced Emily to conclude she'd officially drunk more than her meager alcohol tolerance would probably allow. Emily abruptly wrested the tumbler from Naomi, knowing she was already too late to fend off an extreme state of intoxication in the young Minnesotan.

"How about you give that bottle to me and we'll go sit by the fire," Emily suggested.

As Naomi relinquished the bottle and shuffled toward the sofa Emily surreptitiously dumped the rest of her glass into the fern pot, silently apologizing to it for the continued poor treatment and hoping it survived its meeting with the aquavit. It was a bloody waste of good spirit but Emily could not lose her faculties around Naomi. Not now, not ever. Naomi, however, was quite at her ease, sitting on the arm of the sofa and watching the embers glow in the hearth. Emily scrutinized her with a critical eye, waiting for signs of inebriation to manifest, or at least to an extent further than the champagne elicited on its own. Suddenly, Naomi stood up and went to the window.

"Katherine," she said, "it's snowing! We should go outside."

"Oh, no," Emily argued, "we should stay inside."

"Yes! Outside."

Emily, finally beginning to feel the soft buzz of the aquavit in her own head, reached for Naomi but her fist closed on thin air as Naomi skillfully ducked and thundered down the stairs. Naomi ran down the hallway, exploding into the backyard with Emily behind trying to catch her, hampered by her own dress. The bright lights from the house illuminated her starkly against the swirling white snow that fell, blotting out everything beyond her into a dark blur. Emily paused in the doorway, unexpectedly struck by Naomi's movements as she paced back and forth in the deepening snow. Even drunk, she moved with a lean, powerful grace, lacking the sinuous stretch that might be described as feline, but rather with deliberation. She paused, shoulders spread, chin pointed toward the sky as her breath clouded and rose in counterpoint to the descending flakes, seeming to defy even physics.

"Naomi," Emily said, wrapping her arms around herself. "It's freezing out here, come back in."

"Of course it's freezing," Naomi said sensibly, still motionless. "Otherwise it would be raining."

Emily sighed, rewarding Naomi with a soft chuckle. "That is awful. Minnesota, come inside."

"I belong out here."

"Why is that?"

"I belong out here, with the snow and trees and dogs. I miss my dogs."

"Dogs? What are you talking about?"

"My sled dogs! I miss running with them. I miss feeling the snow on my face."

"You have sled dogs?"

"Teams of them. Clipper is my dog though. I miss him."

Emily ventured into the yard, her thin shoes no competition for the heavy wet snow, but she stood beside Naomi, tipping her own face up until she felt the fleeting caress of snowflakes on her cheeks, cold for an instant as they melted on her skin. For some time they remained, their elbows touching, just breathing until Emily felt the chill creeping into her center. Opening her eyes, she glanced at Naomi whose tongue lolled out, catching the occasional flake on the tip. Caught in the act, Naomi desisted, shooting Emily a sheepish look.

"Come back inside," Emily said gently. "Aren't you cold?"

"No. Are you?"

Emily nodded, clearly no match for the conditioned native. Their knuckles brushed as Naomi lifted her hand to touch Emily in concern, Naomi's skin astoundingly warm. Drawing a startled glance from Emily, Naomi suddenly captured her hand, lacing their fingers together.

"Is that better?" Naomi asked.

"How are your hands so warm?" Emily said, smiling at the sweetness of the gesture, but then faltering as Naomi found her eyes and held them, a tingling tremor of a feeling Emily knew well radiating from the places their bare skin met.

"Let's go in," Naomi said. "You're shivering."

Emily nodded, carefully extracting her hand from Naomi's, the quiver in her chest as foreign and familiar as the scent of a little recalled childhood memory. Naomi took a final deep bracing lungful of the cold air before following Emily back into the house. The temperature outside apparently had a sobering effect, because as soon as Naomi began to equilibrate to the heat of the house her expression went slightly glassy. Their progress back up to the warmth of the hearth in the library was slow, involving many delays where the two leaned weakly on walls or banisters while Naomi giggled helplessly at nothing in particular. Naomi collapsed on the sofa, the arm resting in the crook of her left knee as she kicked off her wet shoes onto the carpet with no hesitation. Kneeling beside the couch, Emily evaluated Naomi's state, while Naomi peered owlishly at her. The skirt of her dress bunched disgracefully around her thighs.

"I think I had too much aquavit," Naomi slurred.

"I know you had too much aquavit," Emily said, discreetly pulling at Naomi's skirt to preserve her modesty. "I'm regretting giving it to you."

"Nooo, nooo. I love aquavit."

"Yes, I see that. How are you doing?"

"I think I'm kind of drunk."

Emily laughed, but then Naomi's clumsy thumb was tracing the line of her jaw, and the sound inexplicably died at Emily's lips.

**"**You always smell like marzipan," Naomi whispered drunkenly.

"I don't even like marzipan," Emily said, slightly surprised to hear herself articulate the words.

"Maybe…almonds. Are there almonds in marzipan?"

"I think so."

"What do I smell like?"

Without thinking, Emily leaned down, nose grazing the hollow of Naomi's throat. To Emily's fevered imagination, she smelled like the embodiment of Christmas. Like cedar and cinnamon, and beneath both the subtle musk of her sweat and skin. And for an instant that ache; a lapse in control fueled by alcohol; that sick urge so much forgotten that burned like longing, to taste, to press the tip of her tongue to the hot pulse of the girl's jugular. To bathe it 'til she clutched at Emily's shoulders and moaned. But then it was gone, reigned and mastered through long practice, and Emily lingered near her, touching her again with detached objectivity, before withdrawing slowly and deliberately.

"So, what do I smell like?" Naomi prompted, eyes lidded and almost closed.

"Like you're inebriated and need to go to sleep," Emily said, rising.

"You're no fun."

Naomi curled up on her side, breathing steady, already lost. It would be silly to try to move her. Emily retreated to her own bedroom, retrieving a blanket from the foot of her bed. She spread it over Naomi's sleeping form, gazing down at her with only confusion in her heart. Emily sat beside the fire, sporadically turning her attention to watch Naomi, her pale brow smooth in the firelight. Winslow's shadow in the doorway brought Emily out of her reverie.

"Madam," Winslow whispered. "Shall I take her into a guest room?"

"No, thank you," Emily said. "She's as well where she is. I will see to her."

He bowed and turned to leave when she called him back.

"Winslow, where is JJ?"

Winslow inclined his head slightly as he said, "Out, madam."

She knew well what that meant, and she felt no jealousy in his unfaithfulness because the man must take his pleasure somewhere if she would not provide it, yes? Yet the hypocrisy hurt her; she who could not indulge rash fantasies of even kissing the neck of another girl, much less bringing her hard and fast to breaking, as she had once done for Effy when Effy asked. Emily stayed, conflicted and waiting, as the fire burned very low, neither thinking nor remembering. At last her head lolled onto her shoulder, and she too fell into a fitful slumber.


	10. Chapter 10: The British are Coming

**A/N: To those of you who have also read COI, there are only so many ways to give water to a hungover person. ****I hope you'll forgive me for the similarities. To be fair, this scene was written first...**  


* * *

**Chapter 10: The British are Coming**

Emily awoke the next morning to find someone had moved her to her own bed, because she certainly hadn't managed the feat of her own volition. Prying her eyes open, Emily scowled trying to find the source of a very pitiable noise emerging from the direction of her door. By the time she remembered Naomi was probably dying somewhere in the library, she had scrambled up from the bed, reassured she was still wearing her dress and hadn't been relieved of that by her helper in the night. She followed the piteous moaning to where Naomi sat crumpled in her armchair with her head cradled in the crook of one arm.

"Naomi?" Emily's voice rasped in a gravelly hiss.

"Please kill me," ground out the muffled response.

"Don't be so melodramatic." Stretching, Emily approached the sofa. Quirking an eyebrow at Naomi's curled position she smiled. "Shall I bring you another aquavit?"

"For Christ's sake, _no_."

Picking her way to the sideboard, she poured a glass of soda water for Naomi. She held the tumbler out, which only made Naomi recoil from it like it contained vitriol.

"This is for you," Emily urged, gently rubbing Naomi's shoulder. She rolled her eyes as Naomi swore violently. "It's only water you shrinking violet."

Naomi's hand weakly opened, fumbling and nearly sending the glass flying. Emily pressed it firmly into her custody and Naomi sipped at it with a distinct scowl of displeasure. After two more glasses full of water, Naomi sat up straighter, squinting at Emily with a grimace, scrubbing her knuckles over her wan face. Her fair hair was utterly disheveled, falling across her neck and into her eyes. Even at their current distance, Emily could faintly detect the scent of spent liquor seeping from her.

"That headache is going to feel nice on the train," Emily commented.

"What time is it?" Naomi panicked, shooting out of the chair and losing her balance.

"Easy there, Minnesota." Emily caught her around the waist, steadying her. "It's only eight."

"Oh, God." Naomi clutched at her head as her forehead rested against Emily's shoulder, muttering further epitaphs about the wisdom of the temperance movement.

"I think a bath and some breakfast would go a long way toward making your trip more pleasant."

Naomi nodded her agreement with exaggerated care, squeezing her eyes shut tight. With soft footsteps Emily summoned Maggie and had her attend Naomi in preparations for her wash and departure. By the time Naomi emerged from the spare bedroom, her hair was damp but neatly combed and she was back in one of her normal school dresses, dark with long sleeves. As handsome as she had been in the borrowed blue dress, Emily still smiled to see her in her own clothes. Something about it pleased her immeasurably. Improved slightly, Naomi hardly winced at all at the mention of food. Together the two descended to the kitchen where Naomi nibbled dispassionately at some toast at the counter, while the cook tutted nearby like a mother hen.

"Why aren't you all…miserable?" Naomi whined, pushing her plate away.

"Hard to be miserable with you," Emily joked, smiling.

"Oh, ha ha."

"Pay a girl a compliment and she flings it back at you."

"I wouldn't if I thought it was a real compliment. I didn't even get any jam." She pointed at the dry toast dismissively.

Emily sighed. "What flavor would you like, princess?"

"Strawberry."

"You're very demanding."

"Only when it comes to jam."

The cook produced a jar of strawberry preserves from the pantry and Emily watched with amused disbelief as Naomi dispatched half the jar with her remaining piece of toast.

"Lord, you do like sweet things," Emily murmured to herself. "Shall we go gather your things? Winslow will need to take you to the train station soon."

Upstairs, Emily rewrapped the aquavit, handing it to Naomi to stow amongst her various luggage.

"Be sure to share that with Cook," Emily said, smirking. "And don't get caught with it."

"I can be sneaky, too, you know," Naomi said.

"I don't doubt it. When will you be back?"

Naomi's forehead creased with thought. "Only until New Years Day, but maybe not even that long if Miss Reyes needs me to come back. She's funny sometimes about whether or not she takes care of herself."

Naomi fidgeted with one the straps on her satchel, tightening them, and rebuckling the leather strips.

"Happy Christmas, Naomi. Enjoy your holiday."

"Oh." Naomi blushed, biting her lip. "You too." Then suddenly, "Thank you. For everything."

Recognizing these few words as effusive praise, Emily smiled, nodding. Then Winslow was taking Naomi's trunk down, to where Cook waited politely in the entranceway. He greeted her in a tone rather louder than Naomi could tolerate at the moment, and she grumbled unhappily at the noise. Cook raised his eyebrows at Emily, who pursed her lips to keep from grinning, and lifted her hands claiming innocence. He chuckled from behind his ginger whiskers and reached out to grip Naomi by the arm.

"Are you going to live?" he asked in a low voice.

"If I'm unlucky," Naomi replied.

Cook shook his head at her, and with a flighty wave from Naomi, the two went out into the snow, bound for Silver Ridge.

+o+o

Christmas came and went without particular incident. Tony thankfully was too drunk by noon to make an appearance in order to ruin their Christmas dinner, and so Emily and JJ spent the evening beside the fire in JJ's study attending to work and drinking brandy. Just after New Years, one evening Tony stayed for dinner by simply seating himself at the table when poor Maggie summoned them. The three sat around the walnut table without speaking or indeed, looking at each other. Only Tony's sunken-eyed glare bored into them as he leaned back in his chair, forearm resting on the table. A full bottle of wine stood beside his plate, ready to be consumed by him alone. Emily stared down at her potatoes, having not even touched her silverware. Somewhere around Tony's third glass of wine, Emily motioned to one of the maids, indicating her portion to be taken away. As the maid bent to take her plate, Tony grunted.

"Trying to keep your figure waify?" he sneered.

"That will do, Stonem," interjected JJ.

"But you always did prefer her sister, didn't you, Jay?" He laughed, staring at JJ with a cruel expression. "Have you told Emily why you're in Minnesota?"

"Don't call her that."

"Why not? It's her name."

"Not anymore."

"Then tell her why you came all this way."

"Logging."

Tony scoffed contemptuously, smacking his fist on the table so hard Emily jumped. "She's not a fucking fool."

Emily rose from her chair, leaving the room in what she hoped was a dignified manner. Although she desperately wished to hide in her bedroom, she was too proud to secret herself away like a frightened rabbit. Instead she paced restlessly in her library, unable to steady her shaking limbs. For nearly twenty minutes she prevaricated, picking up things only to put them back down again. Then heavy footsteps announced she had a visitor. Emily froze, clenching her teeth. Tony leaned against the doorway, looking around with interest. Warming himself at her hearth, the firelight flickered on his sallow skin.

"Much like your library at home," he said, holding his hands up to the flames. "JJ chose it for you."

He frightened her more when he tried to be kind, because then the violence was that much more jarring. Smirking, he loosened his tie and touching the clock on the mantle with a forefinger. He kept time with its ticking, tapping a steady cadence against the woodwork.

"Where is JJ?" Emily asked, voice damningly shrill.

"I don't know," Tony replied, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I hadn't paid much mind to your little library so I thought I should visit. JJ seems to like keeping me confined to his study."

"You're a cur."

"No, I'm a liability. He'll kill me eventually. Are you prepared?"

"He wouldn't—"

Tony strolled toward the sideboard, flipping a tumbler into the palm of his hand. "He will, and I think you should be ready."

"Why are you here, Tony?"

"I've set something in motion I can't stop. I—"

He paused, closing his free hand around the unopened bottle of gin that stood there. Roughly working out the cork with his thumb, he sloppily poured himself a glass, revealing he was more intoxicated than Emily had at first realized. The ethanol was his god, his master, and Emily wondered not for the first time how much of the Tony Stonem she had known still lived in this withered shell.

"We were friends once, Emily," he went on.

"We were never friends," Emily retorted acidly.

"We were friends and not just for her. You're lying to yourself if you think anything else." Shrugging, Tony sat down on the sofa, sipping at the gin. "You still make good gin, little Fitch."

Emily did not so much as bat an eyelash at the compliment.

"I know you hate me now, but I want to ask you a question, little Fitch. Of all the places for him to bring you, why Minnesota? There's so much more than you know."

"He told me everything," Emily said in a terrified whisper.

"Not everything, Emily." Tony looked up at her sadly. "Not even close."

Someone was coming up the main stairs, and Tony leapt up drunkenly trying to catch her wrist. She didn't realize she was backing away from him until she was brought up short against the edge of the tiger oak desk. He stood close to her, the pungent juniper bite of his breath on her face, the abrupt exertion testing what remained of his strength.

"You have to know—"

"Stay away from me or I shall scream!"

"Listen to me!"

Emily desperately tried to twist her head away as cupped her cheek so her could hiss urgently in her ear, his touch shockingly gentle, and yet more dangerous than if he had tried to grab her by the jaw and snap her neck.

"It is coming, I don't know when, but soon, maybe. And you need to be ready to leave him. You need to be ready to distance yourself and run. Leave him, Emily! Do you understand? Do you—"

Suddenly, Tony jerked away from her as though pulled by a chain. Winslow grunted loudly as he threw Tony to the floor, looming over him with his fists clenched. JJ stood close to Emily, but did not touch her as he leveled a small pistol at Tony flailing on the parquet. Trembling with revulsion and rage, a single hot tear coursed down Emily's face, and as she dashed it away with the back of her hand. Her breath blew out between clenched teeth, her skin tingling with adrenaline and fear.

"Get out," JJ growled, his voice so calm it sent a violent shiver through Emily.

"I'll ruin you!" shouted Tony, almost theatrically as though to hide the import of what had actually occurred with Emily.

"Get out or I will shoot you where you lie."

"If I die, your secret is out, Jones!" He pointed at Emily from where he slumped. "And hers! Is that what you want? Want the world to know you for the killers you are!"

A muscle contracted in JJ's jaw, but he did not lower the pistol. "Winslow, pick him up."

With a surprising show of strength, Winslow hooked Tony beneath the arms and hauled him to his feet. JJ pushed the muzzle of the pistol against Tony's shirtfront, and for several seconds they simply stood there, the man unafraid beneath the scrutiny of JJ's unyielding stare. As Tony smiled lazily, hands still raised, JJ drew very close to him.

"Whatever your business here, Stonem," he snarled, "it is with me. If you so much as speak to my wife again, I will kill you and damn the consequences."

"You will regret this," Tony said smirking. "I remember who you really are. I remember what you did."

"You know me, do you, Tony?" JJ's smile was positively deranged. "Then you'll know that shooting a worm like you is hardly beneath me. You know that, don't you?"

Emily made a tiny sound, and JJ lowered the pistol to his side as though waking from a dream. He glanced at her, his shoulders beginning to heave. With a fearful glance at his master, Winslow half led half dragged Tony from the library. JJ slipped the pistol back into the holster concealed inside his coat. He turned to her, flexing his fingers slightly, as though to brush her face, but she recoiled from him, flinching. Stepping back, he straightened his tie and strode from the room, leaving Emily shuddering and alone. She couldn't believe Tony. For years he had tortured her, forever twisting the knife and now out of nowhere he warned her like he cared for her.

Collapsing into herself, Emily sank onto the floor, pressing her face to her knees as she tried not to weep. She had cried too much and too often on account of Tony Stonem. She wasn't safe there, cowering on the floor of her library. She wasn't safe anywhere anymore for she had tried and failed to protect herself. Who would protect her and not draw compensation from her, slowly cracking her bones for marrow? Tony had instructed her to run. So she ran, to Naomi, the only person who had ever protected her and asked for nothing in return.

+o+o

Emily's next awareness startled her. She was stationed on the porch in front of a small white clapboard house, with a mortared stone foundation near to Saint Catherine's; the very house where Naomi Campbell took her lodging. Though the January air was brutally cold, it was mercifully still, and Emily's breath rose in smooth white clouds in the glare of the gaslight. She thought her extremities had gone numb somewhere along the journey; she no longer felt the creeping bite of the frozen night. The hour she knew must be late, and yet she found her hand raised, rapping with the knocker. She hoped someone, no, that Naomi would answer. After a minute of waiting, Emily had come to the conclusion that no one was coming in spite of the fact that a light glowed in the sitting room window. She turned, pausing on the top step when the door suddenly flew open behind her.

"Who there?" Miss Reyes called out.

For a split second, Emily's mouth simply gaped open, unable to utter anything to match her astonishment. The veritable Miss Reyes stood in the mudroom, spectacles perched on the top of her head, but the oddest part of the ensemble was the bright red bodice she wore with no type of shift, shirt, or other accoutrement to cover her bare shoulders and ample cleavage. So instead of speaking, Emily twitched her head to the side, exhaling quickly to prevent herself from blurting out any interesting advice about the advisability of greeting visitors in bodices in the middle of the night.

"Um, Miss Reyes?" Emily managed to say, while attempting to replace her wide-eyed disbelief with a more appropriate expression.

"Hmm!"

"Right, my name is Katherine Jones. I realize this is a beastly hour to call, but if its not too much trouble—"

"What you want?"

"Naomi? Is Naomi in?" Emily frowned, feeling more flustered if that was possible.

"In? In what?"

"Uh, here, in the house?"

"Manana."

"Oh, uh, tomorrow?"

"Vuelva usted manana."

"I see."

"Since when do you speak Spanish?" Naomi called, making Emily spin on the spot and search the hallway beyond the door for the girl.

Naomi ducked down so that she could see Emily under the lintel although she was still halfway up the stairs. Her bare toes curled over the edge of the step she stood on, not quite obscured by the hem of her nightgown. The points of her naked shoulders were covered by a ratty green dressing gown that hung on her lean frame. She came up behind Miss Reyes, eyes never leaving Emily's pale face. When she finally did glance down at her landlady, Naomi jerked and did a double take as she took in Miss Reyes' attire. Sighing in gentle exasperation she guided Miss Reyes away from the door, beckoning Emily in with a lift of her chin toward her shoulder.

Emily crept into the mudroom, leaning back heavily against the door as she closed it, her muscles beginning to vibrate with strain as she watched Naomi reassuring Miss Reyes. The tall Minnesotan cast several fleeting looks of concern at Emily as she convinced Miss Reyes to go back upstairs, with a colorful remark about her bodice. Naomi pushed a lock of her loose hair over one ear, her simple clothes giving the false impression of someone younger and more fragile than Emily knew Naomi to be.

"I take it you're not here for the book I borrowed over Christmas," Naomi said gently, padding to where she clung to the doorknob. "Are you all right?" Naomi reached automatically for Emily's hand, yelping when their skin made contact. "Jesus Christ, Katherine! You're like ice. Did you walk here?"

Chafing Emily's frozen hand between her own, Naomi breathed on her fingers. The touch of Naomi's warmth thawed her, slow as a lady slipper breaching the snow in spring, and for the first time since leaving her own house Emily felt an easing of her blind panic. Her relief at finding Naomi back in Saint Paul defied explanation, its intensity substantiated by her sudden ridiculous impulse to bury her hands in Naomi's dressing gown, to press its fibers into her fingerprints until she had memorized the exact shade of green.

"Come with me into the kitchen and sit by the stove."

Leading the shaking woman by the hand, Naomi took her into the tiny kitchen, seating her next to the range before kneeling beside her, their fingers still intertwined in Emily's lap as Naomi rubbed Emily's knee reassuringly with her free thumb.

"I have some tea," Naomi offered. "Probably not any reputable kind, but I have it. I know, I hate tea, but ever since Paul Revere died, you can never tell when the British are coming."

When Emily cocked her head clearly confused, Naomi let out a low awkward chuckle, wincing slightly as her joke fell flat.

"Uh, Paul Revere's ride?" Naomi squeaked uncertainly. "You know, 'The British are coming'? Longfellow?" Then cracking a huge smile she said, "I can't believe it. I know a poem you don't know!"

Emily shrugged.

Naomi frowned, finally grasping how dire the situation was. "Not important. I'll get some water boiling. Do you want me to take your coat?"

Emily nodded, unbuttoning the garment as Naomi fiddled around the range with a kettle of water. After a moment, she handed her coat to Naomi along with her hat. Emily watched her, surprised the girl would have gone to the trouble to purchase tea on the off chance Emily would visit. Naomi took her things to the hallway closet and Emily took in Naomi's house. The kitchen was small with wood flooring, as was the rest of the house; small, but Naomi's presence was palpable, lending even the air her steady pervasive aura, which hummed even now up Emily's arm from her empty hand. Naomi sat down beside her at the little scrubbed table, touching Emily's forearm.

"Is there anything I can do?" Naomi asked.

"I don't know," Emily whispered, suddenly unsure herself now that Naomi lingered so close. "I wasn't even sure you had returned yet."

"Well, I'm here. I'm back." Naomi bit her lip, her blue eyes so full of anxiety it made Emily's heart ache.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come. I didn't mean to surprise you by turning up unannounced."

"I'm happy to see you, even if I'm not happy you're upset."

Emily blinked, soaking in the earnest candor of Naomi's words.

"I don't care if…"

Naomi trailed off as the kettle whistled and she rose, pouring the hot water into two cups before bringing them back to the table. With these she brought a little plate of flat breads and a jar of blueberry preserves, retaking her chair beside Emily in a typically boyish pose that made for an odd juxtaposition against her dressing gown.

"These seem…nice?" Emily hedged, regarding the flatbreads.

"The lefse?" Naomi replied, slightly bewildered.

"I've not had lefse."

"Really? Never? We've always had it at home."

"Never."

Naomi picked up one of the lefses with her fingers and tore a hunk out of it. For a few moments, they ate in silence, Naomi still glancing at Emily intermittently, her eyes curiously studying Emily's face. What little conversation they had managed to maintain flagged and for a painfully long time they sat at the table without speaking as the mood grew darker again. Naomi reached across the table, stopping just shy of touching Emily's fingertips. Emily, unnerved now by Naomi's show of affection, withdrew her hand by taking a drink of her tepid tea.

"Talk to me, Katherine," Naomi wheedled.

"Something…happened at home," Emily ventured, twisting part of her skirt.

"I'd wager ten dollars that something's name is Anthony Stonem."

Emily shrugged one shoulder uncomfortably.

"What happened?"

Wetting her dry lips, Emily looked lifelessly down into her tea. "Do you…ever wish? Wish you could change something you did?"

"Sure, I do. Who doesn't wish that?"

"I did…things I can't change."

"Katherine…whatever it was, I know you wouldn't have done it to cause harm."

It pained her that Tony should call her by her true name and honest Naomi Campbell was left to know her by a pseudonym. Emily shook her head slowly, eyes focused on nothing as they flicked over the tabletop; if anything, Naomi's reassurances only made her feel worse, and she said, "And what do you know about what I would do? There are things about me that would chill your blood."

"I'm not asking you to tell me anything," Naomi said softly. "But I know you. You're not like that."

Emily smiled bitterly drinking in Naomi's pale eyes, as the nag of something familiar rang rhythmically through her ribs. Taking a sip of her weak tea, her momentary anger ebbed, yielding to the persistent erosion of her guilt. It snuck thief like into her mind, until its dark tendrils stole her rage and she no longer was afraid anything, not Tony, not even herself, or the portent of her own machinations. Emily's wandering gaze finally locked with Naomi's, and her face fell, knowing all Naomi's softness was a mercy she in no way deserved, would always be out of reach. Loneliness was the price of her penance. She thought then of JJ; they belonged together, tied inextricably by the same grief and indiscretion that bound her to Tony.

"Why should I be any different than all those petty, pretentious women you hate, Naomi?" Emily asked, voice low and without heat. "I am such a fool. I'm just a poor little rich girl to you. I shouldn't have come here."

"Katherine, I—"

Emily pushed the cooled tea away from her, sloshing the liquid onto the table as she rose abruptly. Naomi was on her feet, gripping Emily's arm, expression torn between frustration and fear.

Naomi's forehead furrowed. "Then I'll walk with you."

Taken aback, Emily's jaw fell open as she tried to come up with a suitable retort, but Naomi's determined frown made her think better of arguing. Silently, she nodded as Naomi moved to dress. In a few minutes, she came back downstairs in coat and trousers, the toes of a pair of very battered leather boots peaking from beneath the overlong cuffs. They did not speak on the return trip to Emily's house, did not touch, did not even look into each others faces. Instead, Naomi trailed a half pace behind Emily, moving as her shadow beneath islands of light cast by the gas lamps, the moonlight reflecting blue and iridescent on her skin. Naomi followed her clear up to the gate of the big house on Summit, swift and surefooted on the slick pavement where Emily hesitated and slipped, her mood growing more and more dour the closer they drew.

It was only then, at the fence, that Naomi paused, wrapping her long fingered hand around a bar, her profile silhouetted in the dark. She took a deep breath, seemingly about to say something, but instead the corner of her mouth turned up in a lopsided gesture, not quite a smile, as sad as it was uncertain. Emily could only shake her head, and Naomi shrugged, turning to briskly retreat into the darkness down the boulevard. Emily's eyes followed her until she was out of sight, and then stood alone for several minutes before mounting the steps. She felt like an idiot vacillating outside her own front door, smoothing her hair down and straightening her clothes. But she did not know what would await her inside. Steeling herself, she went in, creeping across the foyer.

"Where have you been?"

JJ's voice rang out into the hallway, and at first, Emily could not tell where it had issued from. He sat in his study, shirt collar undone. He was unshaven and unwashed, his normally slicked hair hung down one side of his face. A glass of whisky lay in his hand and judging by the dark smudges beneath his eyes, he had not been to bed. Had waited instead. Waited, like a man cuckolded for the dozenth time, though she had never done it even once. Sometimes, she wished she had the courage, so that he'd find her, damn him, in the act of it again, hell bent on self-destruction and willing to drown in her shame.

"Where is Tony?" Emily said.

"Gone," JJ murmured, rising as he put down his whisky glass.

Emily paled, feeling the word as a bitter augury, the evocation of permanence. "Gone?"

"I sent him back to London, and he will not come here again."

He was gone, and would not come again, but what of the thing Tony had warned her of? Should she still be at the ready to flee?

"Where were you?" JJ repeated, not to be deterred.

"I know where you think I was."

"And?"

"I went to see her, not to fuck her."

He leaned toward her, and after a moment she realized he was _sniffing_ her, as might a bloodhound seeking a murderer. Anger washed through her, overpowering her self-loathing for an instant, each twitch of his nostrils an accusation. Disgusted, she shoved her fingers roughly beneath his nose in evidence, her skin rasping against the stubble on his jaw.

"There is that proof enough?" she said coldly. "Or shall you smell my lips as well?"

He turned his head away, twisting his lip until his canines showed. "Do not make promises you cannot keep. I see how you look at her."

"And how is that, JJ?"

"You'll take her before long."

"Should I dismiss her?"

"I will not renege on our agreement now, but I fear for you." His hand rose, but then fell to his side. "Do you not remember?"

"Yes, and you know that I'm still grateful for what you did."

"Your gratitude. That's all I'll ever warrant, isn't it? Then go with caution, for my sake."

She turned on her heel, leaving him there. Upstairs, she shut the door to her room firmly, shedding her clothes carelessly in the darkness, leaving them in discarded heaps on the floor. Shivering and naked, she crawled reluctantly into her bed, drawing the bedclothes tightly around her body as her skin pebbled on the cold fabric. She pressed her cheek into the pillow, exhausted and chilled. For some reason, she thought of Naomi's hand in her own, and the warmth of the girl's stroking thumb heated the blankets as she curled tightly in a ball. And then she waited, suddenly remembering the last time she saw her sister, face white and drawn in the lamp light.


	11. Chapter 11: Strangers

**Chapter 11: Strangers**

For two weeks, Naomi did not come to the house, being informed she was not needed. Instead, Emily buried herself in business, and she frequented clubs and other social events with Victoria, wetting herself with inane gossip when her work dried up. So for two weeks, Emily bided her time, spending each day in careful contemplation of herself, and each night stretched thinly in nightmare after nightmare. Her life became a pantomime, strung haplessly somewhere between panic and boredom, Tony's warning always at the forefront of her mind. Emily curled her hands around her cup of coffee, watching Victoria hold court, puffing idle smoke rings toward the hearth as though aiming them in that direction would make the smoke disappear up the flue. Victoria was an able ruler, even here in Betsy's house. She sprawled idly in a large armchair, the other ladies gathered around her in a semi-circle, listening to her gossip and relating their own bee-like, in a quiet buzz punctuated by the occasionally high pitched squeal of delight from their sovereign.

Emily reluctantly swallowed a mouthful of the too hot coffee, delighting in its scalding bitterness as it deadened the nerves in her tongue. The less she could taste the vile liquid, the better. Emily perched on an ottoman upholstered in heavy cream colored fabric, there not being enough seating for the assembled company, furthest from where Victoria lounged near the fire. JJ had no reservation about Victoria, Emily thought cynically. And why would he? Victoria did not fit the pattern. She was beautiful, certainly, but not Emily's _type_. But then Victoria was not a friend in the traditional sense, and they were as often at loggerheads as they were in agreement. The instinctual bloodlust Victoria evidently felt to strike for public humiliation was always too great a temptation to resist. This was the closest to friendship that Emily could be allowed. It was the only type safe enough in his mind.

"I heard that charming fellow who was visiting has moved on, Katherine," Victoria commented.

Emily did not at first hear her, being lost in her own ruminations. Her head snapped up as she looked at Victoria with dark eyes.

"I'm glad to hear he's gone back to London," Victoria went on. "Always unpleasant when acquaintances overstay their welcome. You were much too generous."

The tautness of Emily's shoulders relaxed somewhat, and she recognized this small gesture from Victoria. It would quell rumors among the other women and paint herself as a forebearant host, rather than an ungracious one. The laughter of little children percolated through the house, echoed by a shout. From somewhere, an inkling of awareness pulled at her, and her head cocked, already seeking the source of the voice, in spite of the fact she could not hear it will enough to rightly say whom it belonged to. Victoria interpreted Emily's distracted interest in the noise as an invitation to press further.

"Where did you say he moved on to?" Victoria continued.

"I didn't," Emily replied, her tone clipped, suddenly irritated both by the cheek and the disruption. The sound was gone now.

Victoria smiled, one perfectly manicured eyebrow rising on her smooth forehead. She blew another puff of smoke out, then stubbed her cigarette on the brickwork of the fireplace. Circling the room laconically, she poured herself yet another drink. As though this were a permission the women had been waiting for, they broke into small conversations of twos and threes. Emily sighed, contemplating her own reflection in the inky surface of her black coffee. Betsy sidled close to her, casting a wary glance at Victoria, before smiling kindly down into the little Brit's face. An answering smile tugged at one side of her mouth, and she motioned for Betsy to join her opposite on the vacated sofa.

"How have you been since the holidays, Katherine?" Betsy asked. "I haven't had a chance to talk to you one on one."

"Very busy," Emily admitted. "Always much to be done with the businesses in the wake of the New Year."

Betsy's brows drew down. "Oh, no! Have I been keeping Miss Campbell from you?"

"No, of course not. Why do you ask?"

"These past few weeks she's been helping with the children since their nanny has been home with the flu. I never would have asked if I had known you needed her."

Emily sipped again at the bloody awful coffee, giving herself time to think about this revelation. "Oh! I have been managing just fine. I suspected the poor girl needed a break from paperwork."

"Have you been quite all right? Miss Campbell asked how you were two days ago, but I told her you seemed well."

"Did she? Very thoughtful."

The girl was making inquiries about her, to Betsy Harrigan no less. Somehow, in her mind's eye, Emily could picture the scene: the tall Minnesotan shyly but directly asking the question, fidgeting with one of the buttons on her dress, or perhaps with her hands in her pockets. Emily could hear it, down to the timber of Naomi's voice.

"Now what are you two whispering about over here?" said Victoria.

"We were just discussing Katherine's secretary," Betsy returned.

"Katherine has a secretary?"

Emily gazed up at Victoria incredulously, expression torn between amusement and dismay. Suddenly inexplicably angry on Naomi's behalf, Emily made a choked noise in the back of her throat. Victoria merely smiled blandly as she gazed between them. That was when Emily knew all her ignorance was feigned, the threat of the woman's barbed cunning blunted and hidden behind a façade of insipid indifference. Emily's eyelashes fluttered with the realization, and she lifted her cup to her lips. Yes, Victoria knew of Naomi Campbell, her brothers, and all of their connections to the Joneses.

"Well, if Katherine has a secretary, then she needs to get back to work," Victoria insisted.

"I don't—" Emily began.

Victoria crushed her protest with a raised hand, and Emily felt her chest swell with guilt and fear, at the depth of knowledge conveyed by the blonde's curled mouth. She knew much, but did she know everything? Emily lifted her chin, a plea, an inquest, one that Victoria ignored as she lit another cigarette. Emily turned back to Betsy, with every intention of asking her to tell Naomi to come at her earliest convenience.

+o+o

She found JJ in the downstairs hall relating some instructions or other to Maggie and the cook on Thursday. His watch chain flashed in the sunlight that shone through the window in the back door, his hair slick with tonic and laid flat to his head. He could be so pleasant when he wished to be, teasing and making Maggie blush as he spoke to her. Crossing her arms, Emily watched him. He hadn't taken liberties with any of the servants since her lady's maid before Enid but it seemed he might make an exception for Maggie. Smoothing his cuffs and buttoning the front of his double-breasted suit coat, he certainly cut a figure that could blind a girl silly enough to look. He glanced up then, quickly dismissing Maggie and the cook.

"I'm off, dear," he said to her with a smile. "You look well this morning."

"As do you," she replied.

"Only pleased to see you. I will see you tonight then."

"Yes."

They had not spoken of the Minnesotan since the morning of their confrontation, and for whatever reason, Emily warred with herself, torn between gratitude for JJ's well meaning intentions and resentment for his never ending interference. He wanted what was best for her, but was it also what was best for him? He knew Naomi was coming because she had warned him, but he didn't say anything about her. He just slipped his hand into his pocket and went to where Winslow waited for him in the foyer. Parted from him, Emily trailed into the kitchen lost in thought.

Emily mounted the narrow servant's stair, garnering her a mildly surprised glance from the cook who had never seen her mistress do something quite so unorthodox, but truth be told Emily was merely feeling lazy and did not want to circle around to the front of the house to climb the main stair from the entryway to the library. Her fingertips traveled over the uneven surface of the paint on the unadorned plaster walls as she slowly ascended, still contemplating her interaction with JJ, always as though nothing had occurred. She thought of his easy boyish smile, and instead of sisterly affection she, for the first time in ages, felt something else: fear. Emily rounded the corner into the library, oblivious to virtually everything, including the tall, skinny blonde she collided with, almost knocking her flat.

"For Christ's sake," the girl swore gruffly.

"Naomi," Emily said at once, gripping her by the shoulders.

For a long moment, they simply looked at one another, the jolt of Naomi's unexpected proximity coursing through Emily. Naomi awkwardly cleared her throat as she stepped back, regaining her composure. She nervously swept her hair off her forehead, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her dress.

"I thought we agreed to stop meeting like this," Naomi joked.

"When have we ever met like this?" asked Emily raising her eyebrows.

"Outside the stationery shop." She shifted, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Should I just get to work then? I think Maggie's bringing tea, but I wasn't sure what your plans were."

"No, no. Sit down. We'll have tea as usual."

Naomi sat beside the fire, her pale cheeks flushed bright red with the cold outside. Emily took her armchair, glancing up at the girl. Naomi chewed carelessly on her lip, and Emily swallowed, simultaneously set alight by her presence and wanting nothing more than to send Naomi away again.

"Good morning," Emily said.

"Good morning," Naomi replied.

"How are you?"

"Fine." Naomi tugged at her dress. "I wasn't expecting Betsy Harrigan to tell me to come today."

"I didn't realize you were still in Betsy's employ until she mentioned you."

"Usually only on occasion. I was just trying to fill in the gaps while you didn't need me."

Emily's cheek twitched in self-reproach. "I sent along your pay packet with Winslow. Did he not give it to you?"

"I can't take money for work I didn't do." Naomi withdrew the envelope of notes from her pocket and tossed it on the table.

"Naomi…"

"Don't. You don't have to throw your money around with me, Emily. I'm not a charity case that needs your help. So let me work and earn my keep or send me packing, but don't tell me to keep it in the same breath you tell me to stay home."

Emily fell silent, taking in the girl's ironic, arrogant resolve, almost cringing at the bravado that failed to conceal the hurt in her voice. Naomi had got the wrong end of the stick; she thought this was about the disparity in their stations in life, but it had never been about Naomi's worth. Naomi was worth a thousand of her, Emily just didn't know how to tell her. Naomi had pride and her instinct for self-preservation fastened her teeth in Emily's reticence and worried it, wanting Emily to see her as an equal.

"I owe you an explanation," Emily said at last.

"You don't _owe_ me anything. I'm here to work, so let's work."

"I have not been a good friend."

"I work for you. That usually implies a hierarchy, not a friendship."

"Naomi." Emily paused, weighing the measure of her words in the brief silence that followed. "I want to apologize. I never mean to cause you—"

"Look, let's just work. Fair enough?"

Emily swallowed the rest of her reasons. Naomi, for whatever reason, clearly had no desire to hear it, and Emily inclined her hear slightly, opening her mouth to continue, but at just that moment Maggie returned with their tea. Smiling tightly at Maggie, Emily thanked her, but by the time she could return her undivided attention to Naomi, the girl was unreasonably interested in the fine pattern that wove across the china, her blue eyes following the interleaved weave of it across the plate. Emily sighed, grieving yet another little death, her opportunity for whatever she had meant to do, lost.

"I heard Stonem left," said Naomi coldly.

"Yes, he did."

"Good."

The only sign she cared at all was the flash of concern in her eyes, hidden in a look Naomi thought Emily hadn't seen.

+o+o

Everything slowly returned to steady rhythm, and though the slight was not discussed again, they went on mending by inches until the day came they were as well as they had ever been. A few weeks later Naomi came to find Emily deeply ensconced amidst a huge pile of letters and wires. She greeted Naomi politely, but was immediately pulled back to her work, leaving Naomi alone with a strategically placed tin of biscuits on the sideboard. These Naomi was attracted to almost magnetically, surreptitiously attempting to pull the lid off to take one without asking. For several minutes, Emily could only hear a gentle scuffling, then a noise of frustration.

"Trying to steal a biscuit?" Emily teased, without turning.

"Not very sneaky," Naomi pointed out. "So obviously not stealing."

"What are you doing?"

"I can't get the damn lid off." Naomi rotated the container as she tried a different tack, grunting a little with her exertion. "What the heck is so interesting about those papers anyway?"

Emily reached without looking up, beckoning with her fingers for the tin, which Naomi continued to struggle with for a few moments more. Finally with an exasperated sigh, Naomi relinquished it. Not so much as a glancing away from the papers, Emily applied some leverage just right at the edge, and the lid came off with a satisfying metallic pop. Emily held the tin out until Naomi took it back, the girl's aspect singularly affronted.

"I loosened it," Naomi sulked.

"Sometimes technique does win out over brute strength," Emily replied unmoved.

Naomi consoled herself by stuffing one of the biscuits in her mouth. "I don't understand how you can read and talk at the same time."

"It's a bit like chewing and talking at the same time, only with fewer crumbs."

"You're cruel to me."

"Yes, I dare say, providing visitors with biscuits is the height of public torture in the twentieth century."

Adjusting her spectacles, she continued to scan down a column of numbers. Emily's attention had not wavered once from the letters. Naomi sighed again, dropping the tin with a clatter onto the mahogany table before flopping gracelessly onto the sofa.

"If you are bored, Miss Campbell, you needn't stay," Emily said.

"I'm not bored," Naomi countered petulantly.

Emily's gaze flicked toward Naomi's slumped form, the top of her head barely visible over the back of the sofa. Smiling privately as she imagined Naomi's scowl at being called "Miss Campbell," Emily continued to write out her instructions back to England. For several minutes the soft crackle of resinous wood in the grate and the scratch of Emily's pen on paper were the only sounds. Just as Emily was about to sign her letter, she felt a prickling at the back of her neck filling her with strange premonition.

"Naomi, I would not do that if I were you," Emily warned.

Behind her Naomi froze with her hand hovering above Emily's shoulder, caught in the act of trying to steal her pen away. Her impressive stealth had masked her approach, but she lingered too long approximating the best route of attack. Instead of admitting defeat, Naomi's arm shot out, fist closing on empty air as Emily twitched the pen to the side in the nick of time. Laughing, Emily managed to defend her writing utensil for a few more moments, eventually rising and pivoting, relying on their distance to protect her from Naomi's superior height. Naomi glared at her, gripping the high back of the chair as she pushed it aside.

"You were doing this on purpose!" she accused outraged.

"Certainly not," Emily said. "This letter is actually very important."

"Then send a wire."

"I did, but the letter has more specific instructions."

Naomi frowned, her set jaw an indication she had given up on trying to extract any more information from Emily. Lifting one eyebrow, Emily waved the pen teasingly over her head, grinning when Naomi leapt up and claimed it from her with a triumphant cry. The playful happiness in Naomi's eyes left a warm fluttery feeling in Emily's belly, and she sighed, resisting the urge to touch the girl's cheek. It was getting harder to do every time she felt it, not to succumb to the thousand little temptations Naomi brought into her library.

"If you are done abducting my pen I have a job for you, Minnesota," Emily said after a moment.

"I'm your girl," Naomi replied promptly, obviously excited to have something to do.

"I bought two hundred pounds of fennel about seven years ago, but I can't remember when. Would you look for me? The date should be in one of my diaries over there."

"Why fennel?"

Emily hesitated, unable to think up a lie that would explain why she wanted so much bloody fennel. Really she wanted it for gin flavoring, but what else did get used for? Naomi pulled the indicated diary from the shelf and flipped open the cover, holding it up to the weak light from the window. Running her finger down the page, she turned slightly.

"My mom uses it sometimes for coughs," Naomi said.

"Yes, exactly," Emily blurted, relieved Naomi had come up with something all on her own.

Naomi replaced the diary and pulled out the next, startled when several photographs slipped from between the pages and fluttered to the floor. Naomi swiftly bent down and collected the pictures, holding them out sheepishly to Emily along with the diary.

"I'm sorry," Naomi said. "I didn't know these were in there."

Emily looked up surprised, taking the photos from Naomi. "I didn't know I even had photos in that diary." She rotated the topmost photo, a kind looking man with large teeth, his dark whiskers clipped close to his jaw. "Look, my father."

"He looks like a happy character," Naomi commented.

"He was. I missed him very much when he passed."

"When did you lose him?"

"Five years ago. It was then that the tonics business and what not passed to me."

Emily shuffled the photo of her father to the back. The next showed an adolescent girl sitting astride a fine horse, its saddle and coat gleaming. The girl was slightly fuzzy, giving an impression of dark hair, but not much more.

"That is my horse, Artemis," Emily supplied.

"And you riding her, I assume?"

"Yes." Emily smiled.

"Look how young you are."

"I think I was, maybe thirteen?"

"Do you still have her?"

"She lives at my country home. She will be sixteen this year."

Another photograph, this one of two teenaged girls in skirts and shirtwaists. One stood beside a bench, her face turned to something over her shoulder, and the other was seated, a younger Emily gazing candidly toward the photographer. Emily smiled sadly, running her fingers over the girls in the photo.

"Your hair was much longer," Naomi said.

"I suppose I have not changed overmuch," Emily murmured.

"Who is that with you? You can't really see her face."

"My sister."

"I didn't know you have a sister."

"She…died. About a year after we posed for this photo."

"What was her name?" Naomi asked softly, touching Emily's arm in sympathy.

For a beat, Emily almost told her the truth. But then the lie fell from her tongue as it always did because she supposed she really had died that year. She lived in Katie's clothes using Katie's name, always a fool trapped at a fancy dress ball.

"Emily."

Emily laid aside the photo on the desk, still smiling wistfully at her sister. The one beneath it captured a boy on crutches and leg braces. His face was pale and serious, frozen with a dark furrow between his brows.

"Who is this?" Naomi said.

"My brother James. He was quite a bit younger than I. He had polio at six and his health was poor for the rest of his life. He died when I was fifteen."

"Do you have any pictures of people who are still alive?" Naomi teased.

In spite of the seemingly callous choice of words, her voice was so gentle Emily looked up her gratefully, soothed by the slow circles Naomi began to stroke between her shoulder blades. It felt so right when Naomi touched her. Emily nodded, spreading the next three photographs out. These were of different girls in uniforms, standing around together.

"Girls from my preparatory school," Emily explained.

"It seems like you had fun."

"Sometimes. If we didn't get caught."

Naomi grinned, eliciting an answering smile from Emily. "I like the sound of them already."

But as Emily flipped to the next photograph the smile faded from her lips. A dead horror manifested behind her eyes, and her breathing stopped. A beautiful dark haired teenager smirked wickedly, reaching up to casually interlace her fingers with those of the girl beside her, the other girl's arm draped over the brunette's shoulders. After a few moments, Naomi realized the second girl was Emily, probably about sixteen. While the brunette looked directly toward the camera, Emily faced the brunette, her forehead pressed just below her ear. Emily's smile expressed such tangible happiness, such giddy excitement her joy radiated from the matte surface. In the present, Emily thought her heart would stop beating. There had been nothing after what she thought of now as 'the purge'; not a single letter or photograph. In ten years, Emily had forgotten. Forgotten the slope of her nose, the angle of her chin, the burning dart of her eyes.

Suddenly, she was there laughing into Effy's neck that cool April morning, having snuck out to walk the grounds together before the end of term. Effy whispered to her as she squeezed her hand, turning to cup Emily's cheek…and then it was gone, the numbness descended again to mask the pain. The photograph fell from Emily's shaking fingers, to be plucked with agile grace from the air by Naomi. She searched Emily's face, with some concern but no reproach or inquest. Naomi simply slipped the photo beneath the cover of the diary and crossed to the shelf to restore the volume to its rightful place. When she returned to Emily's side, she lifted her hand but did not attempt to touch Emily again; it was an offer of comfort, which would be gladly given yet would not be offended if refused. Finally, when Emily did not move, she laid the hand upon the back of Emily's chair.

"Are you all right?" Naomi whispered.

Emily nodded, still unable to speak.

"Do you want me to stay?"

Emily nodded again, and Naomi quietly settled on the rug beside her, brushing her fingertips solicitously over Emily's elbow, the hem of her skirt. Naomi seemed to know the value of silence, the importance of merely coexisting with another person, and for several long minutes neither spoke. Emily's thoughts were all a wild jumble, but perhaps strangely, foremost, she felt dismayed. When had her memory of Effy become so distant? When had all of the images in her head grown unclear with time? What else had she forgotten? But then the warm pressure of Naomi's hand was squeezing down on her knee and Emily glanced up into Naomi's blue eyes, her confusion only doubling beneath the Minnesotan's thumb on her patella.

"Maybe we should leave this to another day," Emily murmured, forcing the words out, anything to prevent Naomi from staring up at her any longer with that expression that drew all her breath away.

"Yeah, that seems like a good idea," Naomi said.

Emily nodded, gaze fixed upon the floor.

"Have I ever told you about Silver Ridge?"

"Only a little."

Naomi smiled, sliding a bit closer, to lean against Emily's shin as she spoke. "Silver Ridge is a tiny place up north of Duluth, north of Two Harbors. It's out in the woods, really quiet. I grew up there with Cook and Paddy. My mom has a habit of adopting strays so there are lots of people that come and go, but Cook and Paddy stayed with us when their mom died." Naomi paused, realizing she'd been about to mention Freddie, too, but now seemed like the wrong time, not when Emily was so clearly upset. "The snow gets even deeper there than it does here, and there are lakes, everywhere. Maybe you could come with me some day to visit. There's a lake in particular I think you'd like."

During this rambling speech, Emily slowly lifted her eyes to Naomi's, focusing on the steady cadence of her voice. Somehow through the dull ache that tightened her chest, Emily felt a twinge, something calming. Then she realized she'd missed hearing it: low and measured when reciting, quick and high through excitement, tender and earnest in consolation. In their occasional weeks apart, in the days she had spent trying not to listen, she had missed Naomi's voice in all its forms.

"I missed you, too," Naomi said hesitantly, casting her eyes down.

Emily blinked, unaware she had spoken aloud.

"I'd like that," Emily said abruptly, not entirely sure to what she was referring.

"You want to visit? My mother is crazy."

Emily smiled, cupping Naomi's face and running her thumb down the girl's cheek. "She gave me you. So she can't be all bad, can she?"

Smiling sheepishly, Naomi turned into Emily's hand, nuzzling her palm with her nose. Emily reluctantly took her hand back, aware touching the girl for too long was dangerous. Glancing at the clock on the mantle, Naomi offered her a small lopsided grin and got to her feet.

"I have to get to class, but I'll be back tomorrow," Naomi said.

"Yes, tomorrow," Emily agreed.

As Naomi crossed the threshold, she stopped and turned back.

"I'm sorry about your friend," she said with a sincerity that made Emily's heart break anew. "The girl with the dark hair. Someday I hope you can look at her and smile."

Emily would never be able to look on Effy and smile. Only when Emily was sure Naomi had gone, she drew her knees to her chest. She wished she could cry, could scream, could vomit, could faint. But it was impossible, no matter how much she tried. She shivered, and it was the closest approximation to emotion she could muster beneath the pervading crush of numbness. What did Naomi know? Perhaps they were only strangers after all.


	12. Chapter 12: In Flew Enza

**A/N: I'm sorry to say this will be the last chapter of SCW for a bit. I have an intervening section that needs to be rewritten, then there are a few more chapters that just need to be proofed. Thanks for bearing with me and enjoy the (almost!) double update.**

* * *

**Chapter 12: In Flew Enza**

A few weeks later, Naomi fell ill. She arrived as usual for her visit, unusually dressed in trousers and waistcoat. Distracted by finishing updating the ledgers, Emily did not at first pay her much mind as Naomi had of late taken to browsing through the illustrated plates in the natural history while the pair waited for tea; but when Emily glanced up from her writing Naomi was sitting listless on the sofa, not looking at anything in particular.

"Are you all right?" Emily asked. Naomi was not restless by nature, but there was typically a keen alertness in her posture that had vanished.

"I think I'm just cold is all," Naomi replied in a small voice.

She looked clean and put together, but the tone told Emily at once there was something wrong. Emily stood up and walked across the room to the sofa. Naomi's face was very pale, but the tips of her ears glowed bright red. Laying the back of an exploratory hand against the girl's cheek, her skin burned with fever.

"How long have you been like this?" Emily admonished. "You're hot as a fire!"

Naomi shrugged lethargically. "I'm fine. Honest."

Emily rang the bell on the table and tapped her foot impatiently until the maid appeared.

"Thank you, Maggie," Emily said. "Will you send for a doctor? I'm afraid Miss Campbell has come over queer. She's very feverish. And if you please, send a wire directly to Duluth to Mister Cook."

As the maid disappeared again, Emily returned to Naomi's side.

"Come with me," she commanded.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm putting you in one of my spare rooms. You will stay here until you're well again."

"It's just a trifling cold," Naomi protested. "I can go home and it will go away."

"And if you have the influenza? No, I won't hear of it. You will stay here. I must insist upon it."

Naomi managed to look somewhat taken aback at Emily's forcefulness, and got to her feet saying, "I'd like to see you try to stop me!"

Emily blocked her way out of the room by standing firmly between the low table and the sofa. Naomi approached her trying to get by, but quickly discovered she was too weak for the task, and instead finished up leaning against Emily for support, her forehead resting on Emily's shoulder. Gripping the back of Naomi's coat, Emily held her to keep her from swaying. The heat of Naomi's fever smoldered through her clothes as she pressed close.

"Come with me into the other room and I will settle you into a bed," Emily wheedled gently.

"I can go home," Naomi argued again, but the fact that she still stood in Emily's arms trembling slightly made up Emily's mind. The girl stiffened with the intention to resist, but Emily could feel the faint pressure of fingers on her hips, short breath on her chest. It made her want to kiss Naomi's mouth and drink the fever in her stead, but she settled for a brief brush of her lips over Naomi's burning forehead. Carefully, they maneuvered together down the hall and into one of the guest rooms. Naomi sank pathetically down on the side of the bed, her expression regretful and timid.

"I should have just stayed home today," she complained.

"And I would have come looking for you anyway," Emily replied, touching her hot cheek again.

"And what for? To dictate wires to me?" She grunted, hugging herself as she started to shake harder.

"No, because you are my friend and I would have worried." Kneeling in front the bed, Emily tucked Naomi's loose hair behind her ear. "I'm going to take your boots off so you can lie down. Can you help me?"

"I can go home, really."

Emily pressed her fingertips to Naomi's lips. "Like hell you will. Now you can either help me, or I shall lash you to the bed post."

Emily began to strip off her coat and boots, imbuing each movement with a purposeful tenderness.

Struggling to shrug out of her braces, Naomi went on, "Oof, everything hurts."

"I know, Minnesota. I will put you to bed so you can sleep."

Emily eased the braces off her shoulders, gently rubbing her neck and back until the rigid tension slowly disappeared from Naomi's carriage. The girl clearly felt too bad to care much about anything that was happening anymore. Emily helped Naomi lay back into the pillows, and covered her with the blankets on the bed. Shivering, Naomi caught at Emily's hand.

"I'm not sick," Naomi said a final time, smiling at Emily's annoyed frown.

And with that, she fell asleep. Emily sat beside the bed, aware of the impropriety. She should not be keeping vigil; she should send for Maggie and set the little maid to the task, but this was not a thing Emily could leave. Naomi was strong and young, what threat did illness truly pose? But Emily remembered the Spanish flu pandemic when it came ripping through London like a hurricane. The terror never left her, never allowed for calm detachment, and Emily lingered cowed by fear that Naomi would slip under and die.

Emily watched her, fidgeting, knowing that she should not try to touch Naomi anymore, but then she must, occasionally, to monitor the state of her fever, mustn't she? And in so doing, she found she could not stop. The need to reassure herself Naomi still breathed, her pulse still fluttered in her throat, was too strong to resist. So her fingers would rest against Naomi's flushed skin, and her heat would seep into Emily's flesh to her belly where it mingled with self-loathing. A few hours later, after the doctor had come and gone, leaving her with a whacking dose of aspirin, there was a soft knock at the bedroom door.

"Who is it?" Emily called, jumping slightly as she jerked upright.

"JJ," he replied in his smooth tenor. He opened the door about a foot and poked his head around the jamb. "What's this then? Why are you not down to dinner?"

"I'm afraid Naomi has the flu," Emily replied, gesturing to the sleeping form in the bed. "She was too ill to go home as she was. I'm afraid I will be looking after her."

His expression immediately took on an air of horror. "Absolutely not. I will send a maid and you will leave this room."

"I am staying with her until she recovers."

"You know this is too much strain to bear. It is too familiar, too similar to her death and you know it."

These words cut at Emily, but she did not lose her composure and any sign of discomfort showed only as a thinning of her lips as she pressed them together. "I will not leave her."

"You are making a mistake," JJ said with great gravitas. "I will send you to hospital if I must."

Emily felt the flood of panic, though she knew the threat was an empty one. He had been the one to rescue her from the wretched sanitarium; he wouldn't send her back to spite her. The words were merely to frighten her into obedience.

"I doubt very much there is such a dangerous flu about this year," she said, knowing full well this was not at all what JJ was implying. "She simply needs supportive care."

"On your head, then." His timbre intoned much unspoken meaning to the words. "Shall I send you a meal?"

"No, I am fine, thank you."

The truth was she had lost her appetite. It was miserable, sitting at the bedside, waiting. Whenever she saw Naomi's fair head resting on the pillow she momentarily was surprised not to see a dark one. Death always came for her swift and merciless. Nine years had done nothing to diminish the fear and anger that had filled her those two rain swept days in the boarding house at Brighton, and for all the weeks and months afterward, until this moment. Most of the night she sat, counting the pattern in the rug, waiting, waiting, however irrationally, for the fever to break or the girl to die.

+o+o

Lucidity seemed to come and go, interspersed with time when she knew she must have slept. Her body ached like she'd been beaten, and when she woke finally for any length of time she found it was morning again. Sitting up slightly in the deep feather bed, Naomi tried dimly to remember where she was. Her room at Miss Reyes' house had a narrow spring mattress that dug her in the shoulder. Every joint she flexed gave her the vague sense someone had stolen her bones in the night, her muscles barely able to contract enough to provide a poor imitation of strength. Her head throbbed. She squinted into the light that pervaded the room. Beside the bed, to her surprise, sat Emily, asleep in a tall backed chair with her feet propped on the edge of the bed. The wave that normally styled her dark hair had softened through the night, and it was nearly straight, falling over her ears. Apparently she was not an adherent of the permanent wave.

Suddenly unbearably hot, Naomi feebly kicked at the blankets, happily relishing the cold air that touched her sweaty limbs. The movement, however, woke Emily who bolted upright with a wild exclamation about birds. In spite of the fact she felt truly miserable, Naomi smirked, as she pulled the sheet modestly around her midsection again, watching Emily's eyes slowly clear and focus on her.

"Nai," Emily said blearily, "how are you feeling?"

"Awful," croaked Naomi.

"Can I bring you anything?"

"Some water."

Emily leaned forward to reach the nightstand and poured her a glass of water from the pitcher that stood there. She handed the glass to Naomi who took a few grateful gulps.

"The last time I tried to give you water you swore at me," Emily commented.

"There's still time for swearing," Naomi groused.

"The doctor says you should have some aspirin."

Naomi closed her eyes and groaned. "I hate medicine."

"Does anything hurt in particular?"

"My head's ready to split."

Emily volunteered two white tablets. Opening one slit of blue eye, Naomi regarded her with venomous suspicion before holding out her hand to receive the offering. These she dropped into her mouth and after a moment she stuck out her tongue to prove she had swallowed them.

"I hate being sick," Naomi said.

"Your subtlety needs work, Minnesota," Emily deadpanned. "Five demerits."

"I hate subtlety. It's all indirect and…subtle."

"Is there anything you don't hate right now?"

"No, I'm a terrible ward."

Emily sighed. Grunting again, Naomi turned over, settling on her side as she fought the pounding that pulsed at her temples. Something brushed over her forehead, and then fingers were combing through her hair, nails skimming gently over her scalp. They felt impossibly cool against her fevered skin, and she trembled as the hands descended to rub the back of her head.

"Is this all right?" Emily asked. "Helping your head?"

Naomi managed an indistinct noise of assent as she yielded completely to Emily's ministrations, closing her eyes. The kneading continued onto her neck and shoulders, and she moaned as Emily worked the tension from her muscles.

"Do you hate this, too?" Emily teased, voice very low, pausing until Naomi squirmed in protest. She laughed softly. "If you were a cat, I think you'd purr."

Naomi arched slightly into a particularly pleasant upsweep as she mumbled, "I hate cats."

"Ah, there it is. You'd prefer to be some sort of big animal, I suppose."

"A wolf maybe."

"Perhaps I should get you to a vet then. Or the zoo."

"I hate the zoo. The animals are all caged."

"How about flowers?"

"They're okay, I guess."

"It's a miracle. You do like something."

For the first time since falling ill, Naomi started to feel a little better. Her world was rather fuzzy, and she couldn't tell whether Emily's hands had warmed while they touched her or if her fever was finally beginning to break. She might have fallen asleep, she couldn't be certain not with Emily's hands on her, so good it might have just been a fever dream. Next she knew the deep massage had lessened to a gentle stroking of her hair, Emily's fingers combing through it slowly. Would it be so bad, to just stay here, under Emily's watch? No, maybe not.

+o+o

When Naomi woke again, she was alone. While she was not particularly keen on this development, she noted with relief that aside from the fact she was dehydrated and achy, she felt remarkably improved. She sat up, wincing slightly at her stiffness, and then again when she caught a whiff of her own odor, which had not been favorably augmented by two days of sweating, fever and sickness. Slithering out of the bed, she quickly took stock of her lacking attire: just her shirt and undershorts. Where the heck were her trousers? She hunted for them on the floor or furniture, but they seemed to have vanished into thin air. For that matter, her boots were also nowhere to be found. She crouched down, searching under the bed.

"Naomi?" Emily's mildly panicked voice rang out from the door.

Naomi popped up from beside the bed, quickly trying to push her tousled hair behind one ear. Emily settled her small tray on the nightstand, rounding the bed to determine if Naomi had done herself a mischief.

"Did you fall out of bed?" Emily asked, concerned.

"What? No."

Naomi blushed. Emily helped undress her, and had certainly seen her, but now she was sufficiently self aware to feel properly embarrassed of standing in her underclothes in front of her employer. She pawed hastily at the blankets, slipping back onto the mattress and drawing the counterpane up to her chin. Emily sat down on the side of the bed, pressing her palm against Naomi's forehead. Smiling, her hand slid to cup the girl's cheek.

"Your fever broke," Emily said. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much, thank you."

"I brought you some broth."

Naomi enthusiastically accepted the shallow bowl, sipping the warm, fragrant liquid directly from the vessel rather than using a spoon. It soothed her sore throat as she swallowed. Naomi noted finally that Emily looked distinctly care worn, resting her chin in the heel of her hand, eyes drooping with exhaustion.

"Katherine, have you stayed up with me this whole time?"

"You were ill."

"That's crazy!" Naomi put down the empty bowl with a clatter on the nightstand. "Go rest, I'll be fine."

"I didn't want to leave you."

"I just have the flu. It's not important."

"It is important to me!"

Naomi frowned, slightly stunned by her vehemence.

"I've not been a very gracious hostess."

Ducking her head, Emily's face fell into her open palm. Naomi opened her mouth to speak but both women jumped as a strident male voice rang out up the stairs, answered immediately by the murmur of a softer baritone.

"For fuck's sake," Naomi swore in a low hiss, burrowing down into the covers and drawing them over her head. "Tell them I'm sleeping!"

"Them?"

From her hiding place in the bedclothes, Naomi could make out a tiny sliver of the proceedings between a gap in the blanket and twisted sheet. Emily's head whipped up towards the door as the tall, burly Conrad charged into the room, his great coat draped over one arm. Shortly behind him came Cook and Paddy, the former's expression one of resigned apology. Cook still had his coat and scarf on, hat gripped in a gloved hand as he restrained Conrad.

"I'm very sorry to intrude, Misses Jones," Cook said regretfully, "but as you can see this fellow here is very eager to make sure my sister is in one piece. Katherine Jones, may I introduce Conrad Meinz."

To anyone unaccustomed to looking at Emily, her demeanor did not change perceptibly; to Naomi, however, her eyes narrowed very slightly. She was evaluating Conrad, obviously thus far unimpressed by either his appearance or his manners.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Conrad demurred. "I have been very concerned about Naomi ever since I heard she'd taken sick." He glanced around. "Where is she, uh, by the way?"

Naomi held her breath, hoping against hope that Emily would not simply rip back the blanket and wash her hands of the whole business. Instead, Emily simply lifted a single finger to her lips and gestured to the open door. Naomi cringed, feeling rather guilty she had not instantly given Emily more trust. Emily filed out into the hallway with the three men, and as the door clicked shut, Naomi sprang from the covers like a jack in the box, as she began to feel stifled and claustrophobic tangled with the sheets over her face. Creeping to the door, Naomi pressed her ear to the keyhole.

"—much improved," Emily said. "She is quite well, but you understand her recovery is a critical step. She will need a great deal of rest, and the doctor suggested she not receive visitors until she is fully recovered."

"I understand that, but—" Conrad replied before being cut off by Cook.

"Con, she's sleeping. Let the poor girl sleep."

"But—"

"Naoms is sick. Do you think she really wants you to see her like this? She'd never forgive me."

"I guess that makes sense."

"Exactly, of course it does. Pretty girl's always want to look their best for you." Naomi rolled her eyes and bit back her snort into a soft growl. "Paddy, why don't you take Mister Meinz down to Schmidt's for me?"

The youngest Cook hummed his agreement and after a short period of muttering, the heavy steps of both big men cross the landing and descended to the entryway. Naomi scrambled back as Cook and Emily approached the door again, loosing her balance in her still weak condition and flopping over backward onto the rug. Cook was saying something to Emily over his shoulder as he stepped into the room, but stopped and smiled from behind his scrubby beard as he cocked his head curiously at Naomi. Her ears went as red as they had been before her fever broke as she scrambled to pull her shirt down to cover her exposed belly. For a second he just looked at her, then he broke into a fit of almost silent squeaky laughter. Naomi crossed her arms angrily over her chest and scowled at him.

"Trying to make a run for it?" he asked, bending down to lift Naomi into his arms.

"Thanks," Naomi breathed, letting Cook maneuver her back into the bed, feeling tired and a bit bruised about the backside. "Hey, why haven't you been keeping me company?"

"Paddy and I were here earlier this afternoon. You were sleeping."

"Who invited my favorite admirer?"

"Conrad? Oh, you can thank Paddy for that. He let it slip while we were on the way to Schmidt's and he insisted on stopping to see you."

Naomi frowned, but then glanced up at Cook meaningfully. Cook nodded and she understood the implication, _later_. Sighing, Cook looked at her a bit sorrowfully, knowing she was still too sick and drained to allow for a more complicated conversation regarding Conrad. He contented himself with making the sigh as dramatic as possible.

"Her new favorite word is 'hate'," Emily lamented from the doorway.

Cook laughed. "Imagine what she'd be like if Conrad actually got in here to see her?"

Kissing her forehead, Cook tucked Naomi in again with a few whispered words. Emily smiled, stirred by the easy affection in their interaction, and yet discomfited, until she realized with a guilty swallow she was not a little envious of the unwavering, unsolicited love between the siblings. There had been nothing but brutality and backstabbing with Katie.

"Katherine, thank you again for this," Cook said. "I'm really grateful."

"You're welcome," Emily replied.

Emily ushered Cook from the room, conversing with him in hushed tones. For several minutes, Naomi waited for her to return, but sleep overtook her again and she was not awake to see it was Maggie who came in to check on her, and sat vigil by the bedside through the night.


End file.
